


Friday I'm in Love

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is spending spring break on Martha's Vineyard with his parents, and he needs someone to disrupt their matchmaking plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Thursday

When Enjolras walked into the house, Grantaire was sitting at the kitchen table and leaning back in his chair, tapping out some unheard song on the blank page of his notebook.

Grantaire didn't technically _live_ there, but that only mattered when the rent was due. The tiny house that Enjolras was renting with Combeferre and Courfeyrac was both quiet and close to campus, and that made it an ideal location for any friends who needed a place to study or crash or stave off a finals-induced breakdown with copious amounts of Cherry Garcia.

Fortunately, Grantaire was exactly the person Enjolras had been looking for. He hadn't looked up when Enjolras walked in, still focused on whatever he was working on, so Enjolras rapped gently on the kitchen table for attention.

Grantaire jumped a little, then winced apologetically and pulled his earbuds out-- _both_ of them, an unusual concession.

"Sorry, is it too loud?"

"No, it's fine. Can I ask you a favor?"

Grantaire smiled and rocked the chair back farther. "Why? Got flyers that need handing out? Boots that need polishing?"

He shook his head. "I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend."

Grantaire's chair fell backwards, spilling him to the floor.

Alarmed, Enjolras reached down to help him up, but Grantaire climbed to his feet on his own, though the shell-shocked look on his face hadn't changed.

"I'm sorry, I thought I just heard you say you want me to _pretend to be your boyfriend_?" His voice rose in pitch and volume at the end of the sentence.

"You did."

"And why, exactly, do you need me to do this?"

Enjolras sighed. "My parents expect me to spend spring break on Martha's Vineyard with them, and their favorite pastime is trying to set me up with their friends' kids."

"That's a little bit creepy."

"I know. Every time there's a dinner or a party, they're constantly steering me towards anyone unmarried, WASPy, and potentially sexually compatible. It's incredibly embarrassing."

"Well, at least they're cool with you being gay," Grantaire said.

"Are you kidding? My first interview with _The Advocate_ earned my mother a four-percent bump at the end of her first re-election campaign. I shouldn't make fun of them, really," he admitted. "They're good people. But they want me to date someone they approve of, which means...well, it means a lot of weird things."

"And I don't fit the bill."

"Unless you've got a trust fund I don't know about, pretty much."

Grantaire's smile turned a little bit wry, and Enjolras backpedaled.

"Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant that they have a very specific type in mind, and you're different from what they would expect--which is a _good_ thing."

"Sure it is."

"You don't have to go, if you don't want to. If you do go, I promise you won't have to _do_ anything to make them think we're dating. Just being there would be more than enough to break up whatever matchmaking plans they might have. And it's not like spending a week on the Vineyard is a hardship. There's sailing, and the most amazing seafood you can imagine..."

Grantaire's expression was still calculating, so Enjolras played his trump card.

"And my parents have a three-thousand-bottle wine cellar."

"Sold!" Grantaire said brightly.

"Great. I'm leaving Saturday around noon. Is that okay?"

Grantaire nodded, and Enjolras went upstairs and dropped down onto the bed with his French history textbook. He hadn't been back in the room more than ten minutes when he heard the front door open, and a few minutes later, Combeferre appeared in the open doorway.

"So," he said. "A slightly stunned Grantaire just informed me that you're taking him to the Vineyard with you for spring break."

"Mm-hm."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Enjolras shrugged. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. But you could have asked any of us--why Grantaire?"

"Because everyone else has plans," Enjolras countered.

"Really?" Combeferre paused, and Enjolras could see him counting them off in his head. Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta were going to her parents' place, Jehan and Courfeyrac were camping, and Marius and Cosette were visiting her father. Feuilly was working, and Bahorel had decided to stay in town and 'keep him company,' which meant the odds were fair that at least one of them would need to be bailed out before the week was over.

"I could go, though," Combeferre said at last.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "And what would Eponine have to say about that?"

"Knowing her? Probably something like, 'That sounds hot. Bring me pictures.'"

He couldn't help smiling. "Nobody's going to be doing anything picture-worthy. Besides, I thought the two of you were going down to D.C. for the cherry blossoms."

"We were, but Ep would understand..."

"No. I appreciate the gesture, but that wouldn't be fair to either of you. Go with Eponine."

"If you're sure about this, then all right."

"I am. Grantaire is perfect for this--he's the last sort of person my parents would expect me to date."

"The last sort of person your parents expect you to date would be _female_."

Enjolras tossed a pillow at Combeferre without looking up.

"In all seriousness, though," Combeferre began, and Enjolras looked up. "Are you sure you're not using him?"

Enjolras ignored the guilty twinge in his stomach. "Combeferre, he _agreed_ to go. If he didn't want to, then he would have said no."

"Maybe," he admitted. "Just...be careful with him, okay? Grantaire has feelings, too."

Enjolras frowned. "I know that."

"All right. In that case, have fun."

"You, too. Tell Eponine I said hello."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title swiped from the Cure song.


	2. Saturday

**Saturday**

Enjolras knocked on the door of Grantaire's apartment at twelve-fifteen. When Grantaire didn't answer, he knocked again.

Then he pulled out his phone and called him.

_You've failed to reach Grantaire, leave a message_.

"Grantaire? I hope you're awake. I did say we'd leave around noon, didn't I? I--"

The door cracked open about half an inch. "Enjolras?"

"Yes...?"

"I just got out of the shower. Give me five minutes?"

"Sure. I'll wait out in the car."

Four-and-a-half minutes later, Grantaire slipped out the back door, hauling a battered brown suitcase in one hand. His hair was still wet, curling loosely over his forehead and against the back of his neck.

He opened the car door and pushed the suitcase into the backseat. "Hey," he said. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's fine."

Grantaire looked a little subdued as he settled into the passenger seat.

"Are you hungover?" Enjolras asked without thinking.

"No," he said defensively. "Not much, anyway. And it's spring break, I'm totally allowed to be hungover."

Enjolras thought about what Combeferre had said on Thursday. "You don't have to do this, you know," he said. "I mean, I wouldn't hold it against you if you changed your mind."

"I haven't," he said. "Just didn't sleep well without you, sweetheart."

Enjolras chuckled. "You're going to have to tone that down, or I'll start laughing and ruin the whole thing."

"What, no pet names? That's like, two-thirds of the fun."

Enjolras was afraid to ask what the other third was. "Are you still in, then?"

"Absolutely. Let's go."

Somewhat reassured, Enjolras pulled out onto the road, and they were on their way. After they merged onto the highway, the silence started to feel weird, so he turned on the radio.

Grantaire huffed out a sigh. "We're not going to listen to this all the way there, are we?"

Enjolras gritted his teeth and reminded himself that the alternative was spending the week alone with his parents. "You can't possibly have a problem with NPR."

"No, no. NPR is fine. But you're supposed to listen to classic rock, or bubblegum pop when you're on a road trip. Those are the _rules_."

"Fine. I get NPR for an hour, and then you can pick the music for an hour. Deal?"

"Deal."

Grantaire broke the deal by falling asleep exactly three minutes into his first hour. Enjolras turned the radio down a little and focused on the highway rushing past them.

He hoped his parents weren't going to freak out too badly because he'd brought Grantaire along. He wanted them to freak out a _little_ , that was part of the plan, but he didn't want to subject Grantaire to anything unpleasant. He was just there to be a buffer between Enjolras and whatever eligible young bachelor his parents tried to set him up with. In between, he wanted Grantaire to have a good time, too. He certainly deserved it.

Traffic was miserable until they crossed over into Connecticut, so they ended up at Woods Hole between ferries. Grantaire stirred and stretched when Enjolras stopped the car. "Are we there yet?" he asked around a yawn.

"No. We have to wait for the ferry."

"There are so many bad jokes to be made about fairies that I'm literally incapable of choosing between them. Just assume I said something characteristically inappropriate, okay?"

"Sure, sure." Silence fell, and Enjolras stared absently out the window at the choppy waves in front of them. It was a grey and cold afternoon, the kind that whipped salt spray against the windshield and made it seem like winter hadn't quite given up yet.

When the ferry finally arrived, they ended up parked next to the port rail. The car bounced a little on its shocks as the ferry set off towards the island.

Grantaire looked past Enjolras out the window. "Can I get out? Is that allowed?"

"Um, sure. If you want."

"Great." Grantaire flung the door open and went to lean over the port side of the boat, looking down at the water. He turned back after a minute. "Aren't you coming?" he said. Enjolras couldn't hear him through the window, but he could read the movement of his lips.

He shook his head.

"Suit yourself," he saw Grantaire say, and then he turned back to look out at the water, his hair blowing and tangling in the cold salt wind.

Enjolras sighed and climbed out of the car, walking over to join him at the railing. "You'd think you'd never seen an ocean before."

"I'm a land-locked soul," Grantaire admitted. "This is all new to me. Do you ever get dolphins out here?"

"Not until summer, usually. But they filmed _Jaws_ on the Vineyard--maybe you'll get lucky and see a shark."

Grantaire shuddered. "Just as well I didn't bring my trunks, then."

"You didn't? I'm sorry, I should have said something...there's a pool, and it's heated."

He snorted. "Of course your parents have a heated pool. Sorry, I should have assumed."

"We can get you something to wear, I'm sure."

"Nah, I'll just swim naked. Give the neighbors a show," he said with a sharp grin.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and hoped that his embarrassed flush would be put down to the cold and the wind.

* * *

They reached the house just before dark. Enjolras was a little apprehensive about Grantaire's reaction--he knew, he _had_ to know, that Enjolras' parents were well-off. He'd made fun of Enjolras for it a hundred times, the bourgeois rebel himself, but it was a different thing to see the proof of it.

In the twilight, the landscaping was dim and indistinct, but the house itself was unmistakably vast. Most of the lights were on; Enjolras didn't know if it was a gesture to welcome him home, or just the careless environmental waste of a family who never had to worry about paying the electric bill.

"Damn," was all Grantaire said.

"Yeah."

"Be it ever so humble..."

"I know." He pulled up at the head of the circular drive and drummed his fingers absently on the steering wheel. "Hey, listen, I was thinking about something earlier, while you were asleep."

Grantaire gave him a sidelong look. "Yeah?"

"The thing is...I _may_ have neglected to tell my parents that I was bringing you, so they won't have aired out a guest room."

" _A_ guest room? How many guest rooms do you have?"

"Three," Enjolras said briskly. "But that's not the point. Is it okay if we share?"

"Oh." Grantaire frowned.

"If it's going to be weird--"

"No, no. It's just...I don't sleep very well. I never have, really, and I wouldn't want to bother you."

"Oh, is that all?" Enjolras replied. That explained the perpetual shadows under Grantaire's eyes. "You won't bother me. I've been reliably informed that I sleep like a rock."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

"By _Combeferre_. We shared a dorm room for two years, remember?"

"I get that. But if it's a problem for you--"

"It won't be."

"All right, then. Stop stalling and come introduce me to your parents."

They dragged their bags out of the backseat and climbed the brick stairs to the front door. Enjolras unlocked the door and peered inside.

His mother was sitting in the living room with her tablet, but she jumped up at the sight of him. "Philippe! How are you?" She turned and called down the hallway. "Michel, he's here!"

Behind him, he heard Grantaire murmur, " _Philippe_?" That was going to be an interesting conversation.

Enjolras' mother swept him into a hug, and Enjolras returned it fiercely. Depsite the occasional grievance, it really was good to be home. "Hi, Mom. I'm good--great, actually."

His father came down the hall and reached out to shake his hand. "Good to see you, son."

"Good to see you, too. Um, I hope you don't mind, but I...brought someone with me."

The faintly panicked glance that his parents shared was a memory that Enjolras would treasure for the rest of his life. "Did you, now?" his father asked.

Enjolras reached back, twined his fingers with Grantaire's, and tugged him into view. "This is my boyfriend, Grantaire."

He couldn't look much _less_ like he belonged in the house. His green Converse were scuffed and faded, his frayed jeans were ink-splattered, and he was huddled in a ratty Cornell hoodie that, for better or for worse, hid his tattoos.

Then he opened his mouth, and it was Enjolras' turn to stare in shock.

"Hello, Senator Enjolras, Mr. Enjolras," Grantaire said, nodding politely. "Thank you for inviting me."

"You're very welcome," Enjolras' mother said, putting on her diplomat smile--the one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I hope you're not tired yet, we haven't had a chance to air out a guest room--"

Enjolras shrugged. "That's fine. We're used to sharing."

It was a cheap shot, and he knew it, but Enjolras took deep joy in the way his parents' expressions briefly froze on their faces.

Somehow they managed to get through the foyer and into the sitting room, although no one went so far as to sit down. Grantaire still had his suitcase in one hand, and Enjolras was surprised when his father spoke.

"You can set your bag down, er--Grantaire, is it? I'll take it up to Enjolras' room." There was a hint of sharpness on the last word, but otherwise it seemed perfectly polite.

"There are leftovers in the kitchen if you're hungry. Roast chicken," his mother said. "Did you eat on the way?"

Enjolras shook his head. "There was a lot of traffic, so we didn't stop."

"Speaking of _not stopping_ , could someone point me in the direction of a restroom, please?" Grantaire asked, giving Enjolras a look of fond irritation.

"Down the hall on the right," Enjolras said absently, only realizing once Grantaire had left that he was now alone with his parents, a situation that he'd been hoping to put off until tomorrow, or Christmas if possible.

His mother gave him a look. "You could have called to let us know you were bringing someone."

Enjolras shrugged. "He wasn't sure he'd be able to come. I didn't want to put you out for no reason."

"Emily Post would disagree with you there."

"Emily Post would also disagree with calling a leading Republican senator a _warmongering piece of filth_."

Her lips thinned out like they always did when she was trying to hide an inappropriate smile. "Was my assessment incorrect?"

"Not at all. I'm just saying--neither one of us would be Emily Post's favorite."  


"Still," his father said, returning from the sideboard with a fresh drink, "you could have let us know. It's a little petty, isn't it, going in for shock value like that?"

It _had_ been a little petty, but Enjolras had a hard time feeling bad about it. "Like I said, he didn't know if he could come. I would have called on the way, but you know what cell reception is like once you get out of Ithaca."

His mother sighed. "Maybe we should air out one of the guest rooms, anyway."

"There's no need, really."

"But are you sure you'll be...comfortable?"

"We'll be fine," he said firmly. Which was more or less what Grantaire had said, but Enjolras got the idea that he wasn't quite as on-board with the idea as he acted. If it got weird, Enjolras would take one of the guest rooms himself, well after his parents had gone to bed.

Grantaire came back down the hall then, much to Enjolras' relief.

"Let's get something to eat," he said quickly, catching Grantaire's hand and leading him back to the kitchen. The faster they could escape from his parents, the fewer awkward questions would be asked. If they were going to face an inquisition--and eventually, they would--they should at least do it on a full stomach and a decent night's sleep.

Grantaire stopped in the kitchen doorway while Enjolras yanked open the massive stainless-steel refrigerator and started piling sandwich ingredients on the granite-topped island in the middle of the room.

"This kitchen is bigger than most _houses_." Grantaire said it like an accusation.

Enjolras just shrugged. "I know it's ridiculous. You were warned."

"Warned, yes. Prepared...not quite."

Enjolras didn't say anything. He just got out a pair of plates and started making a sandwich, confident that Grantaire was hungry enough to join him without making _too_ much of a fuss.

He was right. They assembled a pair of roast-chicken sandwiches, and Grantaire hesitated on the point of placing the second slice of bread atop the stack of ingredients.

"Not to be rude, but is there any chance that the enormous refrigerator has any mustard in it?"

"Oh! Yeah, hang on." Enjolras retrieved the jar from the refrigerator and a knife from one of the silverware drawers and held it out.

Grantaire stared at the jar and laughed. "What, is the Enjolras family too good for plastic squeeze bottles?"

Oh, like it was _Enjolras'_ fault what kind of mustard his parents bought. He set the jar down with a _clunk._ "You don't have to use it if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine. You're going to give me airs above my station, you know. I'll be ruined for plain yellow mustard forever." But he added the mustard to his sandwich and ate with every evidence of enjoyment.

When they were finished, Grantaire rested his chin heavily in one hand.

"You okay?" Enjolras asked.

"Yeah. Just tired."

"You slept for half the car-ride."

"Yeah, but I told you I don't sleep well. I'm pretty much perpetually tired."

"Okay. Then let's--" _go to bed?_ "--go upstairs."

Enjolras put their plates in the dishwasher, and Grantaire followed him down the hall towards the front stairs. They walked past the living room, where Enjolras' parents were now having a quiet but intense conversation. Enjolras would lay money on knowing exactly what they were talking about.

He passed the open doorway without stopping, but Grantaire paused long enough to duck in through the doorway. "Thanks again, for having me," he said earnestly. "Good night."

Then they were climbing up the wide staircase to Enjolras' room. It felt like a remnant of the past, now, with its Yankees pennant and unironic Che poster and-- _oh, right_ \--the antique king bed that seemed to take up more space than its physical dimensions could account for. One of his parents had brought their bags upstairs and set them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

And now they were alone. In his bedroom.

It was a relief to see that Grantaire felt at least as nervous as Enjolras did--he wasn't even _looking_ at the bed, instead examining the art-nouveau tiles of the fireplace at the far end of the room. He was whistling a half-familiar tune as he looked it over, something Enjolras vaguely remembered from his childhood...

" _Or blow me a kiss, and that's lucky too_ ," Enjolras sang, remembering the line.

Grantaire looked up at him and actually _did_ , pursing his lips theatrically. "Does this thing really work?" he asked.

"In theory. I don't think it's been lit for years."

"Shame. Wood fires are cozy." He turned away from the fireplace, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "So, _Philippe_..."

"Oh my god, don't," Enjolras muttered, covering his face with one hand. "It's a family name, all right? I hate it. If you could just pretend you didn't hear that, we'll all be happier, I promise."

"Fair enough, I guess. Your parents seem pretty nice."

"So did _you_. 'Thank you for inviting me'? Since when do you have manners?"

"Since always. I just don't bother to use them on you."

"Right. Well, I wouldn't count on it mattering much. Bringing you here has probably disrupted two-thirds of their dinner plans for the week. That's grounds enough for them to resent you."

"Huh. And I usually work so _hard_ at being loathsome. "

"That's not what I meant."

"I know it isn't." Grantaire turned to face the elephant in the room. "So. Are we really going to share?"

"We don't have to, if you'd rather not. The guest rooms are right down the hall. They might be a little stuffy, but if we open a window--"

"No, I'm fine with sharing. I just wondered if _you'd_ changed your mind, given that I sleep like shit, and all."

"I don't have a problem with it, if you don't."

"No problems here," Grantaire said. "Except that I sleep naked."

"You _what_?"

"I'm kidding. But I'm glad to know that the thought of my naked body is so abhorrent to you. God, the look on your face..." Grantaire opened his bag and pulled a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants from inside, along with a toothbrush. "Bathroom?"

"Through there." Enjolras pointed at a door on the right side of the room.

"I thought that was a closet." Grantaire opened the door. "Huh. You've got your own bedroom _and_ your own bathroom?"

Enjolras shrugged.

"And they both lock, too. That's totally unfair. I bet you've never been caught masturbating in your life."

"And you _have_?"

"Small house, nosy sister. On the plus side, that was one less coming-out I had to make." He grinned and disappeared into the bathroom. Enjolras hoped he was just changing, and not...

And now he was thinking about Grantaire getting off, and _that_ wasn't anything that ever needed to cross his mind.

Grantaire came out a few minutes later, and Enjolras traded places with him. He'd half-expected Grantaire to be asleep already when he came out again, but he was sitting at the foot of the bed instead.

"I didn't know which side you wanted," he explained.

"It doesn't matter." He'd slept with other people so rarely that he'd never really settled into a preference.

"Great. I like the right side." Grantaire burrowed under the heavy blankets, tucked up against the edge of the bed. Enjolras climbed in on the opposite side.

True to his promise, he fell asleep almost instantly, and slept like a rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have a model for the Enjolras estate when I wrote this, but subsequent googling brought me to [this real-estate listing](http://www.sandpiperrealty.com/listing/27494/108-peases-point-way-north-edgartown-ma/), which is eerily close to what I imagined--right down to the pool and the circular drive.


	3. Sunday

**Sunday**

 

Someone knocked on the bedroom door _entirely too early_ the next morning. Enjolras tried to ignore it, but after a minute he heard his mother's voice from the hallway.

"Are you going to Mass?" she called out.

Enjolras opened his eyes just enough to roll them. "Forgot it was Sunday," he groaned.

" _Are_ we going to Mass?" Grantaire asked, his words sighing around a yawn.

"No. Stay quiet and maybe she'll go away."

Grantaire snorted. "I've known your mom for like _five minutes_ and I can still tell that that's never going to fly. Here, I've got this." The springs bounced a little as he climbed out of bed.

A moment later, something soft and warm hit Enjolras in the shoulder. He opened his eyes to see that it was Grantaire's shirt.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. " _Grantaire_!"

Grantaire was already opening the door, wearing nothing but a pair of blue flannel pajama pants. "Morning, ma'am," he said, in a voice that was still at least half-asleep. "Were you asking about church?"

Enjolras couldn't hear his mother's answer, but he saw Grantaire scrub a hand through his sleep-tangled hair. "Actually, considering the gay and living-in-sin thing, I'm pretty sure we'll catch fire if we set foot on hallowed ground," he said, somehow managing to sound apologetic. "Would you mind if we spared ourselves an immolation and passed on church?"

"No, that's...quite all right. You boys need your rest," she said, a little stiffly. "We'll be having brunch at one."

"Sounds great. Thanks." Grantaire let the door _click_ closed again and wandered back over to the bed. "See? No problem." He plucked the t-shirt out of Enjolras' hands.

"You took your shirt off in front of my _mother_ ," Enjolras complained.

"Well, opening the door fully dressed wouldn't do much to convince her we're boyfriends, would it? I had to give it a sense of verisimilitude."

"Sure," Enjolras said, looking anywhere but at Grantaire. He'd known about a few of the tattoos, the ones that occasionally peeked out from beneath a sleeve, but it seemed he'd missed more than a few. In particular, there was one abstract design on Grantaire's hip that trailed down to vanish beneath the waistband of his pajamas, and Enjolras wondered absently what else there was that he hadn't seen.

Grantaire pulled the shirt back over his head. "How long does Mass usually last?"

"An hour or so."

"Awesome." Grantaire grinned and curled back up under the covers. "Wake me in, oh, fifty-eight minutes."

Enjolras considered trying to go back to sleep, but he was much too aware of Grantaire beside him. Despite his claims of not sleeping well, he'd dropped off to sleep almost as soon as he'd crawled back into bed, but Enjolras wasn't anywhere near sleep anymore.

He gave up half an hour later and took a long shower. By the time he was finished, the promised fifty-eight minutes had elapsed, and he nudged Grantaire's shoulder with one hand. "Your turn," he said, clinging to the towel around his waist.

Grantaire blinked. "Oh. Thanks," he muttered, rolling out of bed. He stared at Enjolras' towel. "Put some pants on, would you?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Just trying to give it a sense of _verisimilitude_ ," he said.

When Grantaire disappeared into the bathroom, Enjolras got dressed as fast as possible. Grantaire had taken his clothes into the bathroom with him--something that Enjolras would have to remember to do for the rest of the week--and was perfectly decent when he emerged twenty minutes later.

They went downstairs at exactly one o'clock to find the table already set. Enjolras' parents were just sitting down, and Grantaire offered them a small wave.

"Good morning, Mr. Enjolras, Senator Enjolras."

Enjolras' mother shook her head. "You're welcome to call me Katherine," she said.

Enjolras stared. It seemed like his mother was making overtures of _friendship_ to Grantaire. He was relieved to see that Grantaire was at least as discomfited by it as Enjolras was.

"Oh--I don't think I could."

"Please," she said. "I can't have my own guests calling me _Senator_ , it's weird."

"I could just stick with ma'am," Grantaire offered.

"I suppose that will do for now."

"Likewise, it's Michel for me," Enjolras' father said, just to complete the surreality of the morning.

"If you say so," Grantaire said, casting a look of incredulity at Enjolras.

Michel picked up a pitcher. "Mimosas?" he asked.

"Sure," Grantaire said.

Enjolras didn't miss the way his father's eyes narrowed at Grantaire's quick acceptance. He could see _that_ coming up in conversation later.

Everything went just fine for ten minutes. The conversation stayed light and shallow--the weather, the homily, local gossip.

"You know the Benningtons are having a party on Thursday?" Katherine said.

Enjolras grinned. "Really? It'll be good to see Ada and Molly again."

His parents exchanged a look.

"Well, Ada, at any rate," Enjolras amended. He knew Molly hadn't been well for some time, and maybe she wasn't up to parties anymore.

"She'll be glad to see you too," Katherine said.

Michel turned to Grantaire and cleared his throat. "So, Grantaire, Enjolras has kept you a bit of a secret from us. Are you a student?"

"Yes, sir."

"What are you studying?"

Enjolras sighed. "Dad, come on. Please don't interrogate him over brunch."

"I'm just curious."

Grantaire took a sip of his mimosa and reached over to squeeze Enjolras' hand briefly. "I don't mind, Enje." He turned to Enjolras' father. "I'm studying art and art history--double major."

"I see. Are you planning to teach?"

"I'm mostly planning to loaf around and live off Enjolras," he said offhand.

Shocked stares met his pronouncement, and Grantaire hurriedly continued. "To clarify, that was a _joke_. I'm thinking about teaching, and of course I'll be doing my own art on the side, though that's rarely a profitable enterprise."

"Would you be teaching at a university, then?"

Grantaire shook his head. "No way--elementary school."

Enjolras' parents glanced at each other and then laughed.

"Actually...that one wasn't a joke," Grantaire said, smiling ruefully. "I like working with kids. They haven't internalized all of the bullsh--um, all of the unnecessary restrictions that society imposes on their creativity."

Katherine smiled. "That's an admirable goal."

"Though perhaps not a lucrative one," Michel said wryly.

"I'm of the opinion that there are more important ways to measure value than salary," Grantaire said, his voice cool.

"You're right, of course," he replied. "You know, I bought a Picasso piece at auction a few years back--just a sketch, but a Picasso nevertheless. It's at my law office in Manhattan. You'll have to have Enjolras bring you around sometime so you can see it."

Grantaire's eyes widened. "Really? I--thanks, I'd love that."

"Any time." He turned to Katherine. "Did you see the paper this morning?" he asked, and the conversation veered onto a different topic.

 

"What was that about, anyway?" Grantaire asked after brunch, lounging on one of the sofas in the living room. "Your dad and the Picasso thing."

"I have no idea. But you _should_ go see it sometime--you'll appreciate it more than he does, I'm sure. I'll drive you, if you want."

"Maybe sometime," Grantaire said, in a tone that meant _yeah, right_. "Sorry I made your parents go ballistic when I said I was going to live off of you."

"Oh, that. They're probably afraid you'd sell the house to finance your artwork after they're gone."

Grantaire sat up, eyes wide. "Ooh, can we? I could do some serious Christo shit if we did--wrap a hillside in plastic or something."

Enjolras frowned. "That's environmentally unsound."

"For that much money we could invent our own biodegradable plastic."

"We're not selling the house."

"Fine. Spoilsport."

_We're also not dating_ , Enjolras almost added, but he didn't quite have the heart to spoil Grantaire's fun. "We _could_ sell the vacation home in south Florida, though."

"You have a _vaca_ \--no, of course you do. Let's sell that one to a really unscrupulous contractor who's going to bulldoze the house and drain the natural wetlands in order to build a series of non-hurricane-proof condominiums, and--"

"Oh my god, will you shut up?"

He grinned. "You are _way_ too easy to wind up."

Enjolras folded his arms across his chest, refusing to rise to any further bait.

"So what are we doing today?" Grantaire asked.

"Nothing, I hope," Enjolras said. "My parents didn't mention any parties tonight, so I think we've got the day off."

"Great! I can practice loafing around and living off of you."

"You could. I've been meaning to catch up on Elementary, and there's an appallingly large television in the den down the hall..."

* * *

They were well into the latest season when Grantaire glanced outside. "Hey, can we go down to the beach?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, but then he remembered what Grantaire had said yesterday-- _I'm a land-locked soul_. "Okay. But leave your phone here--it's windy, and salt spray isn't especially good for electronics."

They left the house, winding down the path from the top of the hill to the shore. The landscaping blocked most of the wind at first, but once they stepped out onto the sand, the gusts hit them full force with freezing air blowing in off the ocean. Grantaire had had the sense to put his sweatshirt on, but Enjolras had left his coat at the house, thinking of warmer summer days.

He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans to warm them and turned to look at Grantaire. "What do you think?"

He just looked for a moment, staring out at the waves. "It's beautiful."

Enjolras had seen the ocean in all sorts of weather, and a grey April evening didn't compare to a cloudless June, or even a stormy August. But then again, maybe it had its own fierce charm. If anyone could see the beauty in that, it would be Grantaire.

A strong gust kicked up stinging grains of sand, and Enjolras stiffened to hide a shiver. He'd stay out here as long as Grantaire wanted, and let him look his fill.

"Here." Grantaire pulled his hoodie over his head and draped it over Enjolras' shoulders, flipping the hood up to cover his hair. "Beanpole like you, no wonder you're cold all the time."

Enjolras gave him a wry look from beneath the green hood. "What about you?"

" _I_ am insulated by alcohol," he said haughtily, tugging a small flask out of his back pocket.

Enjolras frowned. "Alcohol? What alcohol?"

Grantaire shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Can I plead the fifth?"

"No."

"I filled it from the bottle of scotch on the sideboard, before we left the house."

Enjolras stared, and then burst into laughter. "You mean you poured a Chivas Regal that is _older than you are_ into a dented, leaky aluminum flask?"

"Yep."

Enjolras' mother would probably kill them both if she found out, but the idea of her favorite scotch being stolen and swigged from a cheap flask was too amusing. He plucked the flask from Grantaire's hand and took a swallow of his own, just to catch Grantaire's approving nod.

When he handed back the flask, Grantaire tucked it into his pocket. "Okay, let's go back. I don't want you to freeze."

"I'm all right now," Enjolras said, unwrapping the hoodie from his shoulders and putting it on properly. He tucked his hands into the pocket in the front. " _You're_ the one I'm worried about, now that I've stolen your jacket."

"I told you, it doesn't bother me. If you don't mind, can we walk for a little while?"

"Sure."

They walked down the beach, just above the damp sand that marked the high-tide line. The wind whipped their words away from them, making idle conversation impossible, but Enjolras found he didn't miss it. Silence between them had rarely been awkward; it was talking that generally made things go bad. Grantaire could argue a point just for the sake of arguing it, a devil's advocate who never seemed to tire of causing trouble. Once in a while one of the others would ask, after a particularly heated argument, why Enjolras put up with Grantaire, but they were asking the wrong question.

Enjolras couldn't figure out why Grantaire put up with _him_.

He suddenly realized that Grantaire wasn't walking next to him anymore. When he turned back, he saw Grantaire kneeling in the dry sand.

"What are you doing?"

He untied his boots. "I want to walk in the water."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. I've never been in an ocean before."

"It's the first week of April. You have to be crazy to go in there before June."

Grantaire gave him a bright, sharp grin. "And when have I ever given you the idea that I was anything less than crazy?"

Enjolras considered. "I concede the point."

Grantaire folded up the cuffs of his jeans and walked down to where the waves were climbing up the sand as the tide came in. He stood at the edge of the wet sand and waited for an incoming wave. The first washed out before it got to him, but the second rolled up over his ankles. Grantaire let out a sharp sound that a less-charitable observer might have called a squeak.

"Holy _fucking shit_ , it's _freezing_!"

"Told you," Enjolras said.

Grantaire scrambled backwards. "That's the worst idea I've had in at least six hours."

Enjolras mentally reviewed the last six hours and had to agree.

"Stop looking so smug," Grantaire grumbled. "I didn't know water could _be_ that cold and not be ice."

"Salt water has a lower freezing point than freshwater," Enjolras said. "But it's not _that_ cold. Forty degrees or so, maybe."

"Oh, well--forty degrees, that's not so bad." Grantaire took a hesitant step back into the water. "Hm. It's almost okay after a minute or two."

"That's probably the hypothermia setting in. Would you come back here already?"

Grantaire trudged back above the waterline. He reached out to catch Enjolras' arm and _pulled_ , knocking him off-balance in the loose sand.

Enjolras stumbled forward to stay on his feet, and he realized a heartbeat too late what Grantaire was doing. "No, no, don't you dare-- _augh_." Enjolras splashed into the ankle-deep surf, icy water foaming around his feet and soaking his shoes. "You _asshole_!"

Grantaire cackled madly, which Enjolras found alarming, considering he was standing in the same freezing water as Enjolras. Enjolras pushed him and he slipped, falling backwards into the water with a yelp.

Enjolras gasped. "I'm sorry--I didn't mean to knock you over--" He reached out a hand to help Grantaire up.

Grantaire gripped his hand tightly-- _too_ tightly--and Enjolras saw the glint in his eye too late to do anything about it. Grantaire pulled him down into the water beside him just as a wave rolled over them both, soaking them to the waist.

"I hate you," Enjolras said, his teeth gritted to stop them from chattering.

"Hey, you have nobody to blame but yourself. You shouldn't have fallen for that trick twice."

Enjolras ignored him and climbed to his feet, wincing at the clammy grip of his jeans. When he held out a hand to Grantaire, he made sure his feet were planted.

Grantaire shook his head, flinging salt water from the tips of his draggled curls. "Burt Lancaster and Debra Kerr were _out of their minds_ ," he declared.

"They were in Hawaii," Enjolras said absently. "Even here, in the summer it wouldn't be so bad."

Grantaire gave him a sidelong glance. "Well, then, you'll have to invite me up for the Fourth of July, darling."

Enjolras shoved him back into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Don't worry, they'd have to stay in the water for 10-15 minutes before they'd be in danger of hypothermia.
>   * The scene in _From Here to Eternity_ with Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1W6AGM-LxGY). 
>   * The whiskey that Grantaire sneaked is a Chivas Regal 25 Year Old, which sells for around $300 a bottle. I researched a _lot_ of expensive alcohol for this fic...
> 



	4. Monday

**Monday**

  

Monday dawned sunny and clear, with an early mist burning off to reveal a bright blue spring sky. The water would still be cold, but the sun was warm, and there was a brisk, steady breeze--just enough to fill a sail.

Enjolras pulled back the curtain in the breakfast nook and turned to Grantaire with a smile. "Have you ever been sailing?"

"I'd never been on a _boat_ before the ferry."

"Really?"

He shook his head. "Eponine and I were going to take a train into New York and ride the Staten Island ferry once, but there was a bar across the street from the train station. We went in for a drink, and some guys thought they could hustle us at pool...we missed the train, but I think we made like three hundred bucks, so it came out all right."

"Do you want to go out? It's a nice day for it. And it'll put a mile or two between us and my parents."

"I don't know what's so bad about them," Grantaire said. "They seem perfectly nice to me."

"Of course they do. That was the whole point of bringing you. If you're here, they have to behave like hosts, and not default back to their overbearing selves."

"And here I thought you brought me along for the pleasure of my company," Grantaire sighed.

"That, too."

"Okay then, let's go sailing. I have no idea how you do that, though, so I'm not going to be much help."

Enjolras shrugged. "It's a little boat--I can handle it on my own. You're just coming along for the ride. Go get your sketchbook or something. I'm going to change, and then and I'll make us lunch."

* * *

"What are you _wearing_?"

Enjolras looked up to see Grantaire standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at him.

"What?" He looked down at himself. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. "You look like a J. Crew ad."

Enjolras continued making their sandwiches for lunch and refused to respond. They were going out on a boat; ergo, he was wearing boat shoes. He didn't have to defend his wardrobe to Grantaire.

"Seriously, is there some sort of rich-kid sailing uniform? Are the boat police going to arrest me for wearing sneakers?"

" _Grantaire_."

"All right, but if at any point you pop your collar, I am _walking_ back home to Ithaca."

"Here, take this." Enjolras thrust the picnic basket at him. It was the size of a modest treasure chest.

"How long are we going to be gone, again?" Grantaire asked, eyeing the wicker monstrosity.

"Just the afternoon. This was the only basket I could find."

"Are you sure we're not planning to circumnavigate the globe?"

"Not on two bottles of Coke and a handful of sandwiches, we're not. Let's go."

They drove down to the dock, where a sleek, red-hulled sailboat bobbed in the light swells. Grantaire eyed the painted name on the hull and rolled his eyes.

"Oh my god. You parents named the boat _Patria_?"

"No. _I_ did. This one's mine."                                   

"You have your own sailboat. Named _Patria_."

"I was seventeen and I'd been studying too much Latin. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"So did the Jello shots at Halloween," Grantaire countered. "And I was _really_ mistaken about that."

Enjolras was grateful he'd missed that particular debacle.

"Though, to be fair, that only followed me through the hangover the next morning. Your poor boat is stuck with her name _forever_."

"If you don't like it, you're welcome to go back to the house and be interrogated by my parents for the rest of the afternoon."

"On second thought, it's a very nice name for a very nice boat."

"That's what I thought." Enjolras climbed in, then held out a hand to help Grantaire onto the shifting deck, a few feet below the planks of the dock.

Grantaire ignored his hand and hopped down on his own, wavering as the boat bobbed under his weight. Enjolras reached out to steady him, one hand on his shoulder, and Grantaire recovered his balance.

"Thanks," he said. He took a look around the boat, and Enjolras waited half-anxiously to see what he thought of it. The boat wasn't as impressive as the house or the gardens, but it was _his_.

"What the hell, there's a kitchen down here?" Grantaire said, ducking into the cabin below.

"Galley," Enjolras corrected. "On a boat, it's called a galley."

"Right, of course it is." He came back up to the deck and nodded in approval. "I always did kind of want to be a pirate." He leaned over the starboard rail. "Avast!" he shouted.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and tossed a life-jacket to him. "Go on. Get it all out of your system now, because if you start with the Pirates of the Caribbean crap when we're on open water, I'm probably going to push you overboard."

Grantaire stepped back from the rail and put on the life-jacket. "Killjoy. All right, then--weigh anchor, me hearty."

Enjolras almost ducked him then and there. Instead, he unhitched the last mooring line and set them off.

There wasn't much time to talk after that. Sailing took up most of Enjolras' attention, but every time he looked over at Grantaire, he was standing at the rail looking out at something--back to the shore, or off at an island in the distance, or at a line of pelicans floating easily on the swells. He didn't look _bored_ , which was what Enjolras had feared, so he started to relax a little.

Almost an hour later, they approached a tiny island, barely more than a rocky outcropping jutting above the surface of the water. Enjolras maneuvered them around to the lee side, lowered the sail, and dropped the anchor. The sun was high and warm, and the ocean was empty and blue as far as the eye could see.

Grantaire looked back at him when they stopped moving. "Now what?"

"Nothing," Enjolras said, smiling. "Absolutely _nothing_." He opened the picnic hamper and pulled out a pair of sandwiches and a battered Agatha Christie paperback. He handed a sandwich to Grantaire and kept one for himself. "You _did_ bring your sketchpad, right?"

"Yeah." Grantaire held up the spiral-bound book.

"Well, open it up. We don't have to be home until supper." Enjolras pulled the bottles of Coke out of the hamper next.

Grantaire squinted at him in the sunlight. "So that's why we're out here--a whole day without your parents."

"Alas, my evil plan is found out," he said dryly, twisting open the two glass bottles of Coke and handing one to Grantaire "Are you complaining?"

"On the contrary--I think I might be in love. Cheers," Grantaire said brightly, taking a long swallow of his drink.

"We'll have to be back for dinner around seven, but we've got all afternoon to ourselves."

"That sounds great. Hold still."

In direct contrast to Grantaire's instructions, Enjolras turned around. "What?"

"I said _hold still_."

"Why?"

He held up a pencil. "I need a model."

"Absolutely not," Enjolras replied.

"All right, all right. Touchy."

Enjolras held the paperback up over his face so that Grantaire wouldn't catch him smiling.

* * *

They floated at anchor for most of the afternoon. As the sun sank towards evening, the wind began to kick up--nothing close to a storm, but enough to rock the boat heavily with each swell. Enjolras closed his eyes, enjoying the sway. It was a shame that the stronger wind would bring them home faster--unless they tacked along the coast for a while. That would be nice, and Grantaire would probably appreciate the view. The cliffs on the western shore would look amazing in the sunset light...

"Enjolras?"

He opened his eyes, wondering when he'd fallen asleep. "Hm?"

"I don't want to be a bother, but..."

"You should have gone before we left," he said teasingly. When Grantaire didn't respond, he relented a bit. "I'm kidding, there's a bathroom in the cabin if you need it."

"Um, that's not really the problem. I'm...not sure I'm cut out to be a pirate."

Enjolras looked up. Grantaire had gone pale, breathing shallow, quick breaths with his lips pressed tightly together.  Enjolras scrambled to his feet. "Oh, no! I'm so sorry, I didn't know you got seasick--"

"Neither did I," he said grimly.

Enjolras dumped the remains of their lunch into the hamper and closed it. "I'll have us home in twenty minutes, I promise. Do you want to go lie down in the cabin?"

"I...don't think moving would be a very good idea right now."

"All right. Just hang on, okay? And if you have to be sick, make sure you're facing _away_ from the wind."

Enjolras raised the anchor and concentrated on getting them home as quickly as possible. Now he was glad for the sharp easterly wind--they'd reach the harbor faster, and Grantaire would be all right. Whenever he had a spare second, Enjolras looked over at Grantaire, who was standing along the starboard side and clinging to the rail like a lifeline.

As soon as Enjolras pulled the boat up to the dock, Grantaire was climbing out on shaky legs, his eyes closed and a look of relief etched on his face. He half-sat, half-fell down on the boardwalk, his knees drawn up to his chest.

Enjolras finished tying the boat off and then climbed up after him. "You all right?"

Grantaire took his first deep, easy breath in half an hour or more. "I think I will be," he said. "No more boats, though."

"We'll have to take the ferry back on Saturday."

"I'll deal with that when it happens," he said. "Till then-- _no more boats_."

"Promise." He held out a hand to help Grantaire up, and this time, Grantaire took it.

When they got back to the house, Enjolras let them in through the back door, in the hopes that his parents might not notice their return right away. He nudged Grantaire towards a stool in the breakfast nook. "Sit down," he said. "I'll be right back."

Enjolras slipped into the kitchen to raid the refrigerator, finally coming up with what he'd been searching for, hidden in the back. He went back to Grantaire and set the bottle of ginger ale in front of him. "Here. It should help your stomach, if you're still feeling bad."

"It's a little better now," Grantaire said, but he took a sip anyway. "Thanks."

"For what, taking you out on a sailboat and making you miserable?"

He chuckled. "It wasn't miserable--the first part wasn't, at least. Anyway, you couldn't have known I would get seasick. _I_ didn't even know that. So you're not allowed to feel bad about it, okay?"

"All right, fine." Enjolras sat with him while he finished the bottle of ginger ale, satisfied when he saw a faint hint of color return to his face. "Do you want to go upstairs and lie down for a while?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I think I'm okay now."

A sharp tap sounded on the door-frame, and they looked up to find Michel in the doorway.

"I thought I heard you come in," he said. "How was sailing?"

Enjolras smiled wryly. "Educational."

Michel frowned.

"We learned that I am _not_ cut out for the maritime life," Grantaire explained. "I got seasick."

"Ah. Are you feeling better now? There's ginger ale in the kitchen if you--"

Grantaire held up the empty bottle. "Enjolras took care of me," he said, with a smile that looked genuine. "He always does."

Well, _that_ was a blatant untruth. But Michel actually smiled in return. "I would hope so. I'm supposed to tell you that dinner's in an hour, if you're feeling up to it."

"Thanks, Dad," Enjolras said. He took the empty ginger-ale bottle and put it in with the recycling.

When he came back into the room, Michel had left. "I'm going to go take a shower," Enjolras said. "I'm covered in salt."

"I'll come with you," Grantaire said. He froze, halfway to standing. "I mean upstairs, I didn't mean..."

"I know what you meant." He led the way upstairs. "You know you don't have to eat, if you're not feeling well."

"No, I'm all right now, I think."

"Okay, if you're sure..."

Grantaire grinned. "Oh, I get it--if I beg off because I'm sick, then you have an excuse to stay upstairs and 'nurse me back to health.'"

"Please don't try to make that sound sexy."

"What, you don't want to play doctor with me?" Grantaire asked. His voice was low and warm and _completely ridiculous_ , but Enjolras felt his face getting hot anyway.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it."

"Well, it doesn't matter either way, because I'm starving." He tossed his bag on the bed, and the sketchbook slid halfway out of it, still open to the pieces he'd been working on before the rough seas had put an abrupt end to their trip. There were quick studies of the things they'd seen while they were out--the pelicans, the coastline, the shape of _Patria_ 's sail. On the facing page was a figure drawing, all smooth lines and careful shading, and Enjolras was startled to recognize the subject.

He looked up and saw Grantaire watching him with guarded eyes.

"Is that me?" Enjolras asked.

"We were on a boat in the north Atlantic. I didn't have a lot of models to choose from," Grantaire said defensively.

"It's pretty good," Enjolras said. "Maybe even too good. I don't really look like that, do I?"

"Yes, you do."

"You don't have to flatter me. I'm not _really_ your boyfriend."

He snorted. "Like flattery would get me anywhere, anyway."

Enjolras eyed the sketch again. "I don't know. Try hard enough, and it might get you a nude," he said.

He ducked into the bathroom and closed the door while Grantaire was still staring dumbfounded in his direction.

* * *

Dinner started out calmly enough. Both of Enjolras' parents fussed over Grantaire and his bout of seasickness, and Enjolras was confused and pleased to find them getting along so well. It wasn't what he'd planned, but if his parents _liked_ Grantaire then maybe they'd give up on any hope of Enjolras marrying a friend of the family, or developing a latent bisexual streak that would allow them the biological grandchildren of their dreams.

Halfway through the main course, he began to think that they were really going to get through dinner without a fuss. He let his guard down, and that was when it happened.

"I hope you didn't make any plans for tomorrow night, because we're having a party," Katherine said.

"We are?" Enjolras asked, frowning warily.

She smiled. "Well, it isn't _every_ day your son gets accepted into Harvard Law School, is it?"

Enjolras' stomach dropped. How had they found out? He hadn't told anyone--hadn't even decided if he was going to _go_ , yet.

Grantaire turned to him. "You got into _Harvard Law_? Why didn't you tell me?"

Enjolras winced. "I haven't even decided if I'm going to go--and how do you work that into a conversation? 'Please pass the salt, and by the way I got into Harvard.'"

"That's _amazing_ , though! Congratulations!" Grantaire flung an arm around Enjolras' shoulders and squeezed.

The hug was for show, but the smile on Grantaire's face--that was real. "Thanks," Enjolras said, too softly for his parents to hear.

The rest of the meal was a blur of plans and guests that suggested his parents had been planning this party for a _long_ time. "How did you even find out?" he finally asked.

"A friend of mine got a peek at the admissions list a couple of weeks ago, and she let it slip while we were out at lunch," Michel said. "You know, we shouldn't have had to find out from _her_..."

"I didn't want to say anything until I'd made a decision. Having this party suggests that I've already decided to _go_ there, and I haven't made up my mind yet."

Katherine smiled. "Well, honestly, what other choice _is_ there?"

"Potentially, any one of the three other law schools I've applied to. And...I don't know, I was thinking about taking a year off, maybe."

"A year off? Why would you want to do that?"

"Lots of reasons. I've applied for internships at a couple of non-profits..." It sounded so foolish when he said it out loud. He looked down at his plate, the words already rising to his lips. _Never mind, it was just a stupid idea_.

Under the table, he felt the faintest touch on his knee, a fleeting suggestion of a squeeze. He took a deep breath and looked up again. "Anyway, nothing's been decided yet. Which is why I wish you'd asked me before you arranged this party."

"Well, it's too late now," his father said, a little ruefully. "If you decide against going to Harvard, we can discuss it when the time comes."

"Until then, smile and nod?" Enjolras asked dryly.

His mother nodded. "It would be greatly appreciated. Canceling the party now would be cause for remark--and it's a fair bet that the opposition would get wind of it."

"Right. Because if you can't control your own kid, how can you be expected to manage in the Senate?"

Michel frowned. " _Enjolras_. A little respect would be nice."

"Yes. It really would." He closed his eyes briefly. "All right. Have the party, then. Excuse me." He laid his napkin beside his half-empty plate and walked away from the table without looking back.

He went back up to their room, because it was the only place he could be reasonably sure his parents weren't going to follow him. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

A few minutes later, someone tapped on the door. "Enjolras?"

 _Grantaire_. "Come in," Enjolras said.

Grantaire did, and immediately closed the door behind him. He leaned back against the door and gave Enjolras an odd, steady look.

"What?" Enjolras snapped. He hated the way he'd just buckled under his parents' pressures, and he hated that Grantaire had been there to see it. "You probably liked that a little, huh? Watching me get put in my place like that. It serves me right, doesn't it? After all the times I've done it to other people. To _you_ , even. You're allowed to enjoy it. It's turnabout."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "I was just going to say...you got sunburned." He pushed off the door and sat down on the bed next to Enjolras.

"What?"

"Your nose is a little pink." Grantaire tapped the tip of his nose, and Enjolras frowned at him, going ever so slightly cross-eyed.

"Oh," he said quietly, pulling back. "Sorry I snapped at you. And I'm sorry for leaving you alone with them."

"Don't be. They blindsided you and then ganged up on you. It wasn't really fair."

"That still doesn't mean I should have just given in like that. But if I'd protested, they'd make out like I was being unreasonable, ungrateful even...there's no winning a conversation like that."

"I know. And I hope _you_ know that I could never enjoy you being miserable."

"Really?"

"Really. What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I did?"

"A terrible one, I suppose."

"Exactly."

Enjolras sighed, feeling a sudden urge to defend his parents, or at least to explain them. "They don't do it on purpose--not really. It's just...they can be a bit self-absorbed."

"Yeah, I think I got a pretty good demonstration of that just now."

"Oh, that's nothing. I came out to my mother when I was sixteen. It was right in the middle of her re-election run, and the first thing she said was 'Now we've got the gay vote.'"

"Jesus, that's cold."

"It wasn't--I mean, they've been really supportive since then. I know how lucky I am. And I would have wanted to come out publicly anyway, so the fact that I could help Mom's campaign in the bargain was an advantage, overall."

"But that shouldn't have been her first response."

"No, you're right." Enjolras would always remember the churning anxiety of the moment, and the dim shock of hearing his mother's reaction. She had been in re-election mode, everything focused on polls and debates and redistricting, so he should have seen it coming.

Grantaire frowned. "Sixteen...so that means this is an election year for her too, right?"

"Yes," Enjolras said grimly. "It's not so bad right now, but by the end of summer everything will be chaos. There's no Democratic challenger, so she's at least assured the nomination, but things get pretty tense anyway."

"Is that why you want to take the year off? To get out of the way of it?"

"No. I really was hoping to get an internship."

"Present tense."

"Hm?"

"You said _was_. Nothing's set in stone yet, right? You can still do that, if you want."

"I guess," Enjolras said, but the near future was beginning to look bleak.

Grantaire slid an arm around Enjolras' shoulders. "Come on, let's go watch some more Elementary. If we sneak down the back stairs, your parents probably won't even notice."

Enjolras sighed and let his head rest on Grantaire's shoulder, just for a moment. "Best. Fake boyfriend. _Ever_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Enjolras' sailboat is as terribly fancy as everything else his family owns. Probably a 30-footer with a well-appointed cabin and a custom paint job, something like [this one](http://www.beneteauamerica.com/Sailboats/First/First-30-Carbon-Edition). It's basically a starter yacht.
>   * Also, the mental image of a touseled Enjolras looking like a nautical wet dream in top-siders and khakis will never not be beautiful to me.
> 



	5. Tuesday

**Tuesday**

 

Grantaire didn't wake him.

Enjolras wanted to be very clear on that point. He'd gotten too warm beneath the heavy comforter, and _that_ was what had woken him. Then he'd gone to get a glass of water, and he was just settling down again when Grantaire...whimpered.

There wasn't any other word for it. Enjolras held his breath, torn between embarrassing Grantaire by waking him, or sparing his pride by letting him sleep.

He burrowed deeper into the pillows, a frown creasing his forehead even in sleep. He looked miserable, and Enjolras decided that embarrassment couldn't possibly be worse than this.

"Grantaire," he whispered. "Grantaire?" He reached out and shook Grantaire's shoulder, very gently.

He jerked back, his eyes wide and suddenly very awake. "Oh--oh shit, Enjolras, I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No, but you were--it seemed like you were--"

"Having a nightmare," he finished grimly. "Yeah, that's kind of what I meant when I said I don't sleep well." He sat up and switched on the lamp, and then they were both squinting in the sudden light.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras said. "I didn't know if I should wake you, but you seemed...upset. Frightened."

Grantaire ducked his head. "Sorry."

"What are you apologizing for? You can't help it."

"I know."

"But," Enjolras began, and Grantaire looked up at him.

"If you're about to ask if the dreams are related to some deep, dark trauma in my past, I'm going to have to disappoint you. My family might be clinging to the lower edge of the middle class, but there aren't any skeletons in our closet. There's no explanation for it. Most nights I barely sleep at all, and when I do I just have awful dreams. I've tried all kinds of things. Ambien, scotch, Ambien _and_ scotch--not recommended--chamomile, melatonin, meditation...once Bossuet even let me try his narcolepsy meds."

"Aren't those a controlled substance?"

"When did you become a narcotics cop? Yeah, they are. But all they did was make it harder for me to wake up from the dreams, so...no go."

"If it happens again, do you want me to wake you, or just let you sleep?"

"Might as well wake me. Even if I can't get back to sleep, it's still better than whatever the hell I'm usually dreaming about."

"Do you want some tea or something?"

"Nah." Grantaire turned the light back off. "Go back to sleep, Enjolras. I'll try not to wake you up again."

"I told you, you didn't wake me up in the first place."

"Uh-huh," he said. "Sure I didn't."

Enjolras rolled his eyes and dropped his head back onto his pillow.

 

Grantaire didn't look tired the next morning, so maybe he _had_ gotten back to sleep after all. He also spent half his time fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt and eyeing himself disapprovingly in every slightly reflective surface.

Enjolras was determined to ignore him, but he broke down before noon. "Grantaire, _what_ are you doing?"

"I don't know. I've just been thinking--what am I supposed to wear tonight? Is there a dress code?"

"The invitations recommended cocktail dress," Enjolras said absently.

"Yeah, I don't even know what that means."

"Suits, typically."

"Oh, good. Let me just go upstairs and air out the three-piece suit that I bring on all my vacations."

It took Enjolras a full second longer than it should have to realize Grantaire was joking. "Look, you can't be held responsible for not dressing appropriately when you didn't even know there was going to be a party."

"Yeah, but what is everyone else going to think?"

"I don't care what anyone else thinks."

"Yeah, because _you're_ not the one they're going to be staring at," Grantaire snapped.

Enjolras frowned at him. "Are you really worried about this?"

"Yes, I am. Just--could we go get something that _isn't_ jeans and a t-shirt, maybe? Is there a place where we could rent a suit?"

Enjolras slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. "If that's what you want, then we can do that. There's a place down-island that should be able to help, and we can even do lunch on the way, if you want. There's a really great seafood place on the water. My parents hate it because it's 'tourist food,' but it's amazing. Trust me."

"Always do," Grantaire said with a smile. "So when do we leave?"

The drive across the island was quick, thanks to the empty roads of the off-season. The restaurant was practically deserted as well, and Grantaire balked on the way up the front walk.

"Is this somebody's _house_?" he asked, half-whispering.

"No, it's fine." He could understand where Grantaire got that impression, though. The restaurant was just a clapboard building right on the water, with a tiny dining room inside and a huge back deck overlooking the bay. The furniture was barely a step above picnic tables and plastic stacking chairs, and there were only three other people in the restaurant.

He hadn't realized he was worried about Grantaire's reaction until Grantaire grinned, and Enjolras felt his spine unlock.

"I can see why your parents disapprove of this place," Grantaire said as they sat down. "This is more my level than theirs."

His approval deepened when he caught sight of the beer list. "You mind if I...?"

Enjolras nodded. "I'm driving, so feel free."

He grinned and proceeded to have a largely incomprehensible conversation with the waitress about IPAs and something called dry-hopping, which was accompanied with a grin and a wink in Enjolras' direction.

He was entirely certain that he did not want to know what 'dry-hopping' was.

They made a lunch out of clam chowder and lobster rolls, barely talking while they ate. Finally, Grantaire scooped up the last bite of chowder and sat back. "Okay, you were right. This _is_ really good."

Enjolras smiled, and that was the exact moment when everything went to hell.

"Enjolras?" someone called out behind him.

His face went blank, a trick he'd learned a long time ago to keep his distaste from showing. "Monty," he said flatly.

He came around the table, all leather and expensive jeans, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. "I _thought_ that was your car."

"Uh-huh."

"I've missed you," he purred, completely ignoring Grantaire sitting across the table. "You never call."

"There's a reason for that."

If Monty registered the response, he didn't show it. "You'll be at Ada's on Thursday, right? Promise me you'll save me a dance."

"No."

"You are breaking my heart, Enjolras, really."

"Ask me if I care."

He smirked. "I know you do, deep down. See you Thursday," he said warmly, and he walked off.

Enjolras didn't want to know what Grantaire was thinking. He picked up his water glass again, carefully looking anywhere but Grantaire's face.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" Grantaire asked.

"I really don't."

"Summer fling? Adolescent mistake? Come on, it's _eating you alive_. Talk to me."

Enjolras flicked a glance up at Grantaire and then looked away. "Monty and I, we...uh..."

"What? No. Seriously?" Grantaire craned his neck like he was hoping to catch another glimpse of Montparnasse. "You and _him_?"

"We met at a party, a few years ago, and we went out for a while. It was the first...serious relationship I'd had," he said, hoping that Grantaire would pick up the hint. "Not one of my better ideas, really."

"He seems to think otherwise."

"Well, Monty's of the opinion that just because we can't have a five-minute conversation without wanting to kill each other, it's no reason we can't continue to sleep together."

Grantaire shrugged. " _We_ can't have a five-minute conversation without wanting to kill each other, either."

"That's not true. Yes, we argue, but you're a good person, and he's not."

"I am not a good person."

"You _are_ ," Enjolras insisted, frowning. "You're nothing like Monty--you could never be. He's got this...careless cruelty about him. You're not like that at all."

Grantaire shook his head and finished off his beer. Enjolras noticed for the first time that Grantaire's face was pink, and he frowned. "We should go," he said. "I don't think I'm the only one who got sunburned yesterday."

Grantaire briefly covered his face with his hands. "Sunburned, right. Okay, let's go. I need my camouflage."

"Camouflage?"

"Yeah. After all, I'm about to go undercover in hostile territory."

"Don't be so dramatic." Enjolras picked up the check from where the waitress had placed it, neatly equidistant between the two of them.

"No way. This is on me," Grantaire said sharply.

"It's my treat."

"Your parents don't need any more reason to think I'm a freeloader."

"My parents, you may have noticed, are not _here_."

"I know, but--please? I'm starting to feel like I'm taking advantage of your hospitality."

If paying for lunch would ease Grantaire's conscience, then Enjolras could accept that. He slid the check over to him. "All right. But I'm paying for the suit."

"You are _not_."

Enjolras smiled. "Sure, sure. Come on, let's go get you your camouflage."

 

The shop Enjolras had in mind was run by a friend of his father's--one that Enjolras actually _liked_ , primarily because the man treated him like his own person and not an extension of his father.

But as soon as they stepped through the front door, Grantaire balked and grabbed Enjolras' arm. "Okay, confession time: I have no idea what I'm doing here. I've never worn a nice suit in my life."

Enjolras frowned. "You didn't go to prom?"

"Nah. Did you?"

"Yes." It was _expected_ of him. He'd gone with a few friends; he hadn't taken a date, because he hadn't wanted to subject anyone to the political bullshit inherent in dating a senator's son. That made him all the more determined to make the experience a good one for Grantaire--like it would replace the prom that neither of them had properly had.

He approached the man at the desk. "Hi, is Alberto here today?"

There was a brief raising of eyebrows as the man looked back and forth between Enjolras and Grantaire. "He's in a meeting. Can I give him a name?"

"Tell him Enjolras the lesser is here to see him."

"The _lesser_?" Grantaire murmured, as the assistant disappeared into the back room.

"Old joke," Enjolras said dismissively. "He's not even in a meeting. He's just in the back, and he doesn't want to be bothered."

"Oh. Then are you sure we should be bothering him? Maybe we should just--"

"Trust me. He's a family friend. His name's not even _Alberto_ , really. He didn't think anyone would buy a suit from a guy named Albert, so he stuck an 'o' on the end for marketing purposes."

"Seems like it's working pretty well," Grantaire said, eyeing the shop.

Twenty seconds later, Alberto shoved open the door to the back room and stepped around the desk to clap Enjolras on the shoulder. "Philippe! How's your father?"

"He's well, thanks."

"I heard about Harvard--congratulations, young man. A fine accomplishment."

"Oh--thank you," Enjolras said. "I'm waiting to hear back from a few other places, but it's still good news."

"And you decided to celebrate by getting yourself something nice?"

He smiled. "No, I'm not shopping for myself today. We're looking for a suit for my boyfriend," Enjolras said, surprised at how easily the words fell from his tongue. "For tonight's party."

"Tonight?" Alberto's eyebrows twitched upward.

"My parents thought it would be a nice surprise," Enjolras said wryly. "We were _definitely_ surprised."

"I see. So this is the lucky fellow?" Alberto asked, looking over at Grantaire.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Grantaire, this is Alberto. Alberto, this is my boyfriend Grantaire."

Alberto nodded. "A pleasure to meet you. Cut and color?"

Grantaire blinked. "Um--" He turned to Enjolras, pleadingly.

"English cut," Enjolras said immediately.

"What does that mean?"

"That you won't look like a used-car salesman. I'm not sure about the color, though. Could we get a few samples?"

Alberto took a handful of measurements, shifting a bewildered Grantaire and stringing a measuring tape around him, and then disappeared into a back room. After a moment, he brought out a white dress shirt and a few jackets in different colors.

"I'll let you two decide," Alberto said. "Call me when you need the fitting done."

He departed for the back again, and Grantaire slipped inside the fitting room without giving Enjolras a chance to follow.

Not that he _would_ have followed. If they had really been dating, it might have been different, but he stayed on the other side of the door and waited, for what felt like a thousand years.

"Um..." Grantaire said from inside the fitting room.

"Can I see?"

"I don't know if this was a good idea. I don't even look like me."

"Please?"

He heard Grantaire sigh. "Fine." He pushed open the fitting-room door.

He was wrong; he _did_ look like Grantaire. A shy, smiling Grantaire in a slim-fitting midnight-blue suit that barely needed alterations at all. The subtle sheen of the fabric was just rebellious enough to make Enjolras smile.

Because he _wasn't_ smiling at the way the color brought out Grantaire's eyes.

"It's perfect," he said, remembering that Grantaire was probably waiting for a reaction. "And what do you mean, _you don't look like you_? Who else could you look like?"

"I feel like the prince to my pauper. Like I'm playing dress-up, and any moment someone is going to figure it out and throw me out of the store."

"No one's going to throw you out," Enjolras said. "I'd say you should try on a few more, but honestly, I think this is perfect."

Grantaire nodded. "Should we rent it for the day, or the whole week? Are there going to be more parties?"

"We're not _renting_ anything."

"What are you talking about?"

"Alberto doesn't rent suits. He sells them."

"This was _not_ part of the plan." Grantaire looked for a price tag and didn't find one. "How much is this?"

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_? Do you often buy things without knowing how much they cost?"

Enjolras could feel them edging out onto thin ice. He didn't want to argue with Grantaire, especially not in the middle of Alberto's shop. "I know _approximately_ how much it is," he said.

"Give me an estimate."

Enjolras hesitated.

"How many digits?" Grantaire demanded, his voice getting colder all the time.

"...Four. But _low_ fours," he added in a rush, as Grantaire's eyes widened. "Eleven, maybe twelve hundred."

"No," Grantaire said. "Absolutely not." He started to shrug out of the jacket.

"What are you doing?"

"Enjolras, we are not buying a twelve-hundred-dollar suit."

"Why not? It looks good on you, and you can wear it again."

"When I am I going to wear a suit like this again?"

"To your first gallery opening, or something."

"I--" Grantaire faltered. "But it's _twelve hundred dollars_. You know I don't--I can't--"

Well, of course he did. "I'm not allowed to spoil my boyfriend?" Enjolras teased.

"No, because that's a joke, and this is _not funny_. This is ridiculous. I'm not worth--" Grantaire cut himself off, pressing his lips together so tightly that they turned white.

" _Grantaire_ ," he said quietly. "You don't think you're worth this?"

He rolled his eyes. "This isn't a John Hughes movie where you can make over the poor kid and he dances with the prom king."

"Did that ever happen in a John Hughes movie?"

"No, because John Hughes movies are tragically heteronormative. Don't change the subject."

Enjolras sighed. "Look, you're allowed to have nice things."

"Yeah, but a _nice thing_ for me is a microbrew instead of a Budweiser, or a really good set of pastels. This is on a _completely_ different scale."

"Well, you're on the Vineyard now. Things are different here."

"I can see that. But there are better things you could be doing with the money, aren't there? You could be spending it on one of your causes." His eyes widened. "Or am I a cause? Is that what this is about? Is this _charity_?"

" _No_ ," Enjolras growled. "No, it's not. I just--you should have seen the look on your face when you came out of the dressing room. You looked...shocked, but pleased. Happy with yourself. I liked that," he said, not sure if he was crossing a line. "You don't seem to like yourself much sometimes, and for a second I think you did."

"That's ridiculous," Grantaire muttered. The tips of his ears were bright red.

"No, it's not. Please let me buy the suit."

"I don't understand you," Grantaire said, barely meeting Enjolras' eyes.

"Is that a no?"

"It's an 'I don't understand you.'"

"I don't understand you either, so we're even."

Grantaire bit down on his bottom lip and looked away.

"Let's just see what alterations they'd have to make, okay?" He asked the assistant--whose attitude had warmed up remarkably--to have Alberto come back out for the fitting.

That led to the amusing sight of Grantaire standing nervously on a stepstool, eyeing the tailor as he measured and pinned things.

"How do you want the trousers hemmed?" Alberto asked.

Grantaire glanced at Enjolras in mute supplication.

"Half-break, I think," he said. "And we'll need a shirt, and Oxfords in a size--"

"Nine," Grantaire supplied.

"Right, and a pair of good socks. And a tie--I could probably find something that would work, but I want it to be perfect. You deserve perfect," he said firmly, seeing Grantaire about to protest.

" _Enjolras_." Grantaire rolled his eyes, but he couldn't move for fear of being stuck by any number of pins Alberto was now applying to his cuffs.

"Stand still or you'll wind up bleeding all over your new pants," Enjolras said.

Grantaire made a face at him.

The accessories drove up the cost of the suit considerably, but what Grantaire didn't notice probably wasn't going to hurt him.

"How much is all of this other stuff?" he asked immediately, eyeing the neatly folded stack of clothing on the counter.

Enjolras waved a hand. "It's not important."

" _Enjolras_."

"It doesn't matter. Anyway," he said pulling a deceptively plain black credit card from his wallet. "It's on my parents' tab."

"No--you can't. Your parents are going to _kill_ you--or me--"

"My father spent ten times this much on six bottles of wine at an auction last year," Enjolras said.

"Oh." Grantaire paused. "Then can we look at those pocket squares again?"

Enjolras grinned. " _Now_ you're talking."

They picked out three different pocket squares, at Enjolras' insistence, and he didn't let Grantaire see the receipt when he signed it.

"There. They'll alter it and we can pick it up before we drive back to the house."

"But your party starts in, like, six hours. They'll have it done by then?"

"Of course." He was trading a little on Alberto's friendship with his family, but it would be worth it. "Come on--let's go for a walk."

They wandered through town, peering into shop windows even though almost everything was closed for the off-season. The ice-cream parlor _was_ open, so they bought a pair of cones and sat down at the end of a long boardwalk with a view of the ocean.

"I could look at this all day," Grantaire said, and Enjolras believed it. The wind off the water whipped Grantaire's hair into his face, but he didn't seem to mind.

"We could do that, if you wanted," Enjolras offered. "Just skip the party and watch the sky, wait for the stars to come out..."

"That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard you say."

Enjolras blinked. "Is it?"

"Well, it doesn't have a lot of competition. But no--after you bought me that suit, the least I can do is wear it to the party."

"If you insist," Enjolras said.

"So what am I getting myself into here? What happens at a Martha's Vineyard party?"

Enjolras licked an errant drop of ice cream from the side of his cone. "A lot of expensive champagne, a little bit of dancing, and too much politics."

"I thought this was supposed to be in _your_ honor. Doesn't that make a difference?"

"Generally, no. There are two different kinds of parties on the Vineyard--the ones your parents throw, and the ones you throw when your parents are out of town. Hypothetically," he added quickly. "This is the former kind." He didn't often frequent the other kind, not since one such occasion had given him the misfortune of being introduced to Montparnasse.

"Shouldn't you get some say in your party, though?"

"I get to pick what kind of champagne I want, usually."

"Expensive?"

"Carbon-neutral," Enjolras countered.

"Of course."

"The one saving grace of these parties is that my presence is only barely required. We'll have to make the rounds, but after that it's all going to be politics and nostalgia, so we can slip out. It always happens, at these parties. I spent two-thirds of my ninth birthday party reading my mom's vintage Nancy Drews in the little alcove next to the cellar door, and nobody thought to come and find me until it was time to cut the cake."

"Ouch. I'm sorry."

"Are you kidding? It was the best birthday I can remember--until college, anyway." Last year, someone had brought vegan cupcakes to the café they frequented, with a tag with Enjolras' name on it. They'd all sung happy birthday to him, surprisingly on-key, and by the time they left, Courfeyrac had icing in his hair and Enjolras was finding crumbs in his notebooks for a week.

_That_ had been the best birthday of his life. But if he told Grantaire, he'd probably think it was pathetic.

They walked back down the boardwalk as the sun began to sink towards late afternoon. Enjolras checked his watch. "Let's head back to Alberto's. They should have the suit done by the time we get there."

Grantaire eyed him suspiciously. "How much extra did you have to pay for _that_?"

Enjolras contemplated pushing him off the boardwalk. "It was almost a perfect fit already," he said.

"That is _conspicuously_ not an answer," Grantaire grumbled, but he let the subject drop.

 

They picked up the suit and made it back to the house with just enough time to get ready before the party started. The ground floor was a chaos of caterers, so they managed to get upstairs without anyone questioning where they'd been all day.

Enjolras' suit was already hanging on the back of his door, pressed and ready. He slipped it off the hook and stepped into the bathroom to change. He let Grantaire change in the bedroom, where there was more space and a larger mirror. Enjolras could tie a Windsor knot in the dark by now, so the mirror above the bathroom sink was more than sufficient.

He eyed his reflection grimly and then ran his fingers through his hair, deliberately mussing it. It wasn't much, as rebellion went, but it made him look a _little_ less stuffy. At least the suit was grey instead of black.

Enjolras knocked on the bathroom door. "Is it safe to come out?"

"Darling, you brought me home to meet your parents. I think you're already out."

He considered banging his head on the door. "I meant, are you dressed?"

"Yeah, yeah. Come on out."

Enjolras pushed open the door.

" _Jesus_ ," Grantaire said. "I give up."

"What?"

"You look like fucking _James Bond_."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "You don't look so bad yourself," he said, like it was a counter-argument. Alberto ought to be _knighted_. The suit fit Grantaire perfectly, but he didn't look like James Bond. He looked like he'd taken a wrong turn off of a red carpet.

He flushed under Enjolras' scrutiny. "Is it okay? Or should I hide up here until the party's over?"

"You look great," Enjolras replied. "But your tie is a little..."

"Yeah, I know." Grantaire shrugged. "I only know the easy knot, the--what is it, four-in-hand?"

"That's the most common one, but for this you want a Windsor," Enjolras said. "I can, um....I can tie it for you, if you want?"

"Unless we've got time to watch a series of YouTube videos on the subject, I think you'd better."

Enjolras stood close in front of Grantaire, concentrating on tying the knot in reverse. It would probably have been easier if he stood behind Grantaire and reached over his shoulders, but that thought came accompanied with a whole host of other problems, so he discarded it. It was difficult enough to keep his eyes down, focusing on the tie and not on Grantaire's face, which was very close to his own and smelled faintly of some kind of spicy aftershave.

He had to stop and start over twice. "Sorry," he muttered the second time. "I've almost got it..." He stepped back to consider his work. "There."

"How do I look?"

"Like a politician is about to hit you up for a fifty-k donation. Your camouflage is complete."

"Except for cufflinks," Grantaire admitted. "I didn't think--I've never owned a shirt that needed cufflinks before."

"Second drawer from the left."

Grantaire yanked the drawer open and stared. "Why in the hell would you need this many pairs of cufflinks? I mean, you can only wear one at a time. I can see needing gold and silver, depending on the suit, and maybe blue for your mom's campaign stops, but this is ridiculous." He scooped up a silver pair that picked up the highlights in his tie, and looked to Enjolras for approval.

He nodded and chose a pair of ruby cufflinks for himself. "Cufflinks are the kind of thing people get you for your birthday when they don't really know what to get you. Like ties."

"Shows how well they know you," Grantaire muttered. "You'd be happier with some kind of charitable donation, instead."

" _You've_ never gotten me a charitable donation," Enjolras said, teasing. "Some boyfriend you are."

"No, but I did get you cupcakes that one time."

Enjolras dropped a cufflink, and it rolled under the bed. "That was _you_?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. You mentioned your birthday one time in passing, and I wasn't sure if anybody else remembered. I didn't want you to feel like nobody cared, so...anonymous cupcakes."

"Anonymous _vegan_ cupcakes, for Joly and Cosette."

"Yeah. Would have been kind of a dick move to leave them out, right?"

Enjolras knelt down to fish the cufflink out from beneath the bed. When he straightened up again, Grantaire was fixing his own cuffs.

Enjolras took a deep breath. "Grantaire, thank you."

"It was just cupcakes."

"It was the best birthday I've ever had."

"Better than reading mysteries behind the back stairs?"

"Much better."

Grantaire offered a smile and then turned back to glance in the mirror. His expression immediately soured. "Should I do something about my hair?"

" _No_ ," Enjolras said, too quickly and too loudly.

Grantaire gave him a look.

"Your hair is fine. Oh, but I messed up your collar when I did your tie. Here." Without thinking, he reached out and straightened Grantaire's collar. His fingertips brushed the warm skin of Grantaire's throat, and he pulled back like he'd been burned. "Sorry. I didn't mean to...you could have fixed it yourself."

"It's fine. I appreciate it," Grantaire said, but there was something off in his expression. Enjolras felt like he'd been crossing lines all day, and he didn't quite know where they stood anymore.

"Are you ready to go downstairs?" he asked, pushing the concern aside for the time being.

"No."

"There's champagne."

"Let's go."

They went down the hall, and Grantaire froze briefly at the top of the stairs. "Shit, that's a lot of people," he muttered, staring down at the tops of people's heads below them.

"It is. I didn't get a look at the guest list, but I'm guessing maybe a hundred invitations went out."

"And every single one of those people is going to see right through me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm a fraud, Enjolras. A sheep in wolf's clothing."

Enjolras tried not to smile--he'd never seen Grantaire look so nervous before, and it was surprisingly amusing. "Well, if it helps, you don't look like one."

"So I'm a very _good_ fraud."

"The best. Come on, it's not going to get any easier waiting up here." Enjolras caught his hand and led him down the stairs and into the crowd.

A dozen people immediately turned around to congratulate Enjolras. He conjured a smile and thanked them all while they made their way around the first floor. Most of the furniture had been moved down to the basement, which would have made the space seem cavernous if it hadn't been packed full of people.

"Hey, I just thought of something," Grantaire said.

"Hm?" Enjolras realized that he hadn't yet let go of Grantaire's hand, and decided that he probably ought to get around to doing that.

"We're not going to run into what's his name--Monty--here, are we?"

Enjolras shook his head. "My parents don't know about what happened with us, but Monty's family isn't close with ours. There's no reason he'd be here, which is a relief."

"You know what else is a relief?" Grantaire asked, grinning. He slipped his hand out of Enjolras' grasp and ducked into the crowd, only to return a handful of seconds later with two flutes of champagne.

Enjolras laughed. "You're right, that _is_ a relief."

"Cheers." Grantaire tapped his glass against Enjolras', and they both took a sip. Enjolras closed his eyes, appreciating the crisp lightness and the sensation of the bubbles.

"Wow, okay. Your carbon-neutral champagne is amazing."

Enjolras smiled. "I'm going to remember this the next time you start arguing with me about neoliberal hippie environmentalism, you know."

"Fair enough." Grantaire scanned the room. "So what do we do now?"

"Drink more champagne, and avoid everyone over the age of thirty-five, if remotely possible. It's a shame it's too early for roses."

"Roses?"

Enjolras nodded towards the bay window that overlooked the back garden. "In the garden. Making out in the roses is a time-honored tradition, you know."

"Oh, really."

"Mm-hm. I didn't mean _us_ , of course," he added quickly. "It's just a universal constant--wherever the party is, there are always roses, and there is always at least one couple tucked away there. Once it was my parents."

"That's traumatizing."

Enjolras shrugged. "I was seven, and more concerned with not knowing where the bathroom was than about catching them in the middle of whatever they were doing. Still, I could have lived without the experience."

"I bet." Grantaire scanned the room. "So if your parents didn't know I was coming when they made the guest list, there's probably someone here that they wanted to set you up with."

"Probably," Enjolras said.

"Let's see if we can guess who it was."

"All right, if you want." Enjolras lifted his hand to encompass the whole first floor. "Guess away."

"Okay, ruling out anyone female, and anyone old enough to run for president...oh. The guy with the red hair, looks like a Kennedy." Grantaire whips around to stare at him. "He's _not_ a Kennedy, right?"

"No, on both counts. He's got a fiancée."

"One e, or two?"

"Two."

"Well, no wonder you two didn't work out. Let's see...what about the guy over by the fireplace, the one with the yellow bow tie?"

"Oh, Hassan? Good guess. My parents already tried with him. He's great, actually, but there was no chemistry whatsoever. We're still friends."

"Friendly enough that you could get him to teach me how to rock a bow tie?"

"Doubtful."

"Damn. The blond on his right?"

"That's Richard. His mom tried to set us up when we were in high school. He's bi, but mostly interested in women and Welsh history, so that didn't go very far."

"Okay, that's like--every male of our age in the room. I'm out."

"Maybe their Chosen One had other plans. Such a shame."

"You sound heartbroken."

"I am."

The music changed, but only slightly, and Grantaire made a face at the corner where the sound system was set up. "Not that I was expecting dubstep, but aren't they going to play anything from this century?"

"I wouldn't bet on it," Enjolras said. "Just be glad that they've moved on from string quartets. The Vineyard kind of defaults to the 1960s--the halcyon days of the Kennedy era."

Grantaire shook his head. " _So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past._ "

Enjolras stared.

"What? I do read, you know."

"I know that. I just... That's my favorite book."

"I thought your favorite book was _Civil Disobedience_."

Enjolras shook his head. "That's an essay, not a book. Anyway, I didn't say it was the most _important_ book, but--it's like comfort food. When I'm upset about something, or I'm not feeling well, I go back to it. I always find something new."

"It was the first thing I thought of, when we came up the drive and I saw the house," Grantaire admitted. "Daisy's enormous, old-money mansion on the East Egg."

"So what, does that make you Nick Carraway, the outside observer?"

"If I'm Nick, you'd have to be Gatsby."

"Moping over a distant green light? Or floating dead in the pool?"

Grantaire frowned. "Okay, this metaphor officially sucks. Let's get something else to drink."

By the time they got their hands on another glass of champagne, a every single person in the house must have come up to give Enjolras their congratulations; he knew most of their names, though he only really _knew_ a fraction of them. He kept his fingers laced with Grantaire's, because the last thing he wanted to do was face an awkward parade of well-wishers on his own.

For his part, Grantaire didn't protest. And every now and then, when Enjolras sighed or rolled his eyes, Grantaire would give his hand a reassuring squeeze. It felt good having him here, like an ally. Parties like this could be astonishingly lonely things, and Enjolras didn't know how to thank Grantaire for staying with him without making him feel like he was being mocked.

"Do you want to dance?" he offered.

Grantaire shook his head. "This isn't the kind of music I dance to. They don't teach the foxtrot in public schools, you know."

"They don't teach it in private schools, either," Enjolras returned sharply.

"So what, you had lessons?"

His face heated. "Yeah. Ballroom, from eight to thirteen."

"The rich really _are_ different, aren't they?"

There was something bitter and sharp in Grantaire's tone, and Enjolras felt his own temper flare. "Any time you'd like to stop taking your inferiority complex out on me, that would be fine."

"Right. You had _ballroom dance lessons_ for five years, and my inferiority complex is _my_ fault."

"Does it ever hurt your back, carrying around that chip on your shoulder?"

"I don't know, does it ever give you a stiff neck, looking down on people all the time?"

"Go to hell." Enjolras pushed past Grantaire and cut through the crowd of people. He ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, not caring who noticed. He locked the door, then gripped the edge of the sink and glared at nothing in particular until he felt himself starting to calm down.

He didn't understand it. No one got under his skin the way that Grantaire did. _No one_. And it didn't help that there was more than a little justice in Grantaire's comments. Enjolras was aware of all the privileges he'd had in life, and he tried hard to keep them from affecting him. But then something _stupid_ would crop up, like forgetting that not everyone could dance, of all things, and Grantaire would just eviscerate him. At least it hadn't been in front of all of their friends this time.

He yanked at the knot of his tie, leaving it draped loosely around his neck, and unfastened the top button of his shirt. _There_. Now he felt like he could breathe again.

Someone rattled the lock, and Enjolras sighed. It wasn't fair to monopolize the only bathroom on this floor just so that he could have a temper tantrum in peace. "Just a minute," he said. He gave his reflection a last glare and then headed back out into the party.

He owed Grantaire an apology. They probably owed _each other_ apologies, really. Enjolras was willing to make the first move, if only because this was supposedly his party, and it was a host's duty to be gracious.

He wound his way through the crowd, searching for Grantaire. He wasn't usually hard to find--in any serious meeting, he would be on the fringes of the crowd, curled up awkwardly in a chair or leaning back against the wall. In a social situation, he was usually deep into some kind of mischief with Joly and Bossuet, but Enjolras wasn't sure how that translated to the current party.

He heard his laugh before he saw him, and it made Enjolras' stomach twist. Apparently, Grantaire hadn't needed much time to recover from their argument. Enjolras turned in the direction of the sound and found Grantaire standing by the fireplace, grinning, deep in conversation.

With Hassan.

Enjolras just kept walking. Turning back would draw attention, would feel like a retreat. He slipped into the kitchen, heading for the alcove near the cellar door. It would be a tighter fit than it had been on his ninth birthday, but maybe no one would notice him there.

He sidestepped a caterer and tucked himself into the alcove, only to collide with the shoulder of the man already standing there.

Enjolras stumbled backwards. "Oh--I'm sorry. I didn't know this hiding spot was taken."

"A hiding spot? Is that what this is?"

Enjolras didn't recognize the person who had usurped his corner. He looked like he might be a few years older than Enjolras, maybe somewhere in his mid-twenties, which suggested that his parents had been issued the invitation, and he had been compelled to tag along. The smartphone that he was currently trying to hide behind his back only gave credence to the idea.

"Don't let me interrupt you," Enjolras said. "I just came back here for a few seconds' peace." And to figure out what to do about Grantaire's newfound friendship.

"No, no. I was just checking my email. If I'm missing too long, my parents will start to wonder where I've gotten to."

"Tell me about it."

He tucked his phone into his jacket and held out a hand. "I'm Dante Young."

Enjolras shook it. "Philippe Enjolras," he admitted. "But I prefer Enjolras."

"Oh!" Dante smiled. "Congratulations on getting into Harvard."

"Thank you."

"I hope you won't hold it against me that I went to Yale?"

"I applied there, too. I just haven't heard back yet."

"Well, if you need a source of inside information, I'd be happy to help. I've been out for a couple of years, but I can tell you which professors are not to be missed--and which ones will put you to sleep at an eight a.m. lecture."

"Thanks. What is it you do?" This was the kind of small-talk that Enjolras typically hated, but he was happy for anything that would keep his mind off Grantaire for a few minutes.

"My father works closely with your father's law firm, which is probably why we rated an invitation. But I'm a human rights lawyer--just passed the bar last fall."

Understanding rolled over Enjolras in a cold wave. " _Oh_ ," he murmured. "They're getting better at this."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. It's really nice to meet you."

"You too. You throw a great party."

Enjolras smiled. "Let's be honest--it's my parents' party. I'm just an excuse."

"What better excuse could there be?"

Enjolras was not, admittedly, the most observant person when it came to reading the nuances of one-on-one interactions. If _he_ could tell that someone was flirting with him, it had to be pretty blatant.

"Sorry," Dante said. "Was that too much?"

"Oh, it's all right. Except...I'm not sure what my parents told you--they wouldn't have known any different at the time--but I'm seeing someone."

"Ah." He held up his hands in surrender. "My bad."

"It's fine. I think I might take you up on the Yale advice, though, if I get in."

He grinned. "I'm sure you'll get in. And I'm always happy to talk about my alma mater. It's getting me to shut up that's the problem."

He had a nice smile, and Enjolras liked him. If Grantaire hadn't been here--no. He couldn't give his parents the satisfaction. And he wasn't _interested_ , not romantically. His stomach didn't drop when he talked to Dante, his heart didn't race, his face didn't get hot.

"It really was nice to meet you," he said. "But I should probably go back out there."

"You sure you don't want your hiding place back?"

"No, it's all yours." Enjolras turned to leave and nearly collided with someone in a dark-blue suit. " _Grantaire_. You startled me." He took a deep breath to slow the sudden pounding of his heart. This probably didn't look good.

"I can see that," Grantaire replied, looking from Enjolras to Dante. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

Dante just smiled. "This is your someone, then?"

"Yeah. Dante, this is Grantaire. Grantaire, this is Dante. Remember the guessing game we were playing before? He's a _human rights_ lawyer."

"Oh," Grantaire said. "They're getting better at this."

Enjolras laughed. "That's what I said." He left Dante with a wave and turned to Grantaire. "Listen, I'm sorry I stormed off."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just weird, knowing everybody in the room could buy and then gentrify my entire neighborhood."

"I get that. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"Forget it."

"No, I mean it." Enjolras took a steadying breath. "If you don't want to do this anymore--if you want to go home, I mean, I'll take you back tomorrow."

"And give Hassan a chance to realize what he missed with you? No way." There was another apology hidden in Grantaire's smile.

"What he missed with _me_? He seemed pretty taken with you, a few minutes ago."

"Nah. He's a fan of classic slasher films, but he had the audacity to suggest that the first _Evil Dead_ was better than its successors, which is a blatant untruth."

"I see," Enjolras said, even though he didn't.

"Hassan wasn't trying to steal me away any more than your Dante was trying to steal you. Though he seems more your type than most of your parents' other suggestions. Are you sure you don't want to give him your number?"

Enjolras shook his head. "I can get his number if I need it," he said, without thinking. " _Not_ that I want to date him--my parents would be insufferable if they found out that one of their set-ups actually worked."

"I can imagine. So, you ready to go back out there?"

"No," Enjolras said dourly.

"Well, it's your party--you can hide if you want to."

Enjolras paused to consider that. "You know what? You're right. Come on." He took Grantaire's arm and led him back out through the party, weaving between groups of people until they came to the double-doors of the library.

He pushed open one of the doors and pulled Grantaire inside behind him. He shut the door and reached for the light-switch.

"Okay, not that I'm complaining about being locked in a dark room with you, or anything, but what is going on?"

Enjolras turned on the lights, revealing the thick carpet and burnished wooden shelves lined neatly with books. The noise of the party dulled to background noise with the doors closed, and the smell of leather and furniture polish was comfortingly familiar.

He glanced over to see Grantaire shaking his head. "I don't even know why I keep being surprised. Of course you have a _library_. And a summer home, and a heated pool."

"I told you the suit wasn't a big deal," Enjolras replied wryly. "It used to be the sunroom, but my parents had it closed in."

Grantaire wandered the perimeter of the room, tracing the spines of the books with one fingertip. He frowned at the doors. "These don't lock, do they?"

Enjolras shook his head.

"Well, then it's not much of a hiding place, is it?" Grantaire unhooked one of the curtain ties, letting the curtain itself fall over the wide, east-facing window.

"Um...what are you doing?"

Grantaire grinned at him. "Improvising." He wrapped the cord twice around the doorknobs and tied it in a knot.

"You are brilliant," Enjolras said. To his surprise, Grantaire turned bright pink.

"I'm not brilliant. I'm just an expert in making rooms safe to make out in. Or, you know, hide from a nosy mob of one-percenters," he added quickly.

"Brilliant," Enjolras insisted. He took a deep breath and let himself relax for the first time since they'd gotten back to the house. He draped himself sideways across an overstuffed leather armchair, his head resting on one arm and his legs dangling over the far side.

"You're going to wrinkle your suit."

Enjolras lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It'll be sent out for pressing whether it's wrinkled or not, so..."

"You might as well make it worth their while," Grantaire finished.

"They'll send yours out too, so sit down."

Grantaire perched himself on the window seat, somehow managing to look like he was in a GQ photoshoot. "Are we going to be missed?"

"Probably. They'll just think we went somewhere to make out."

"Oh."

Enjolras smiled thinly. "Don't worry, your virtue's safe with me."

"You're assuming I _have_ virtues. That's sweet."

"Whatever. Make yourself useful and toss me the Sunday Book Review, would you?"

"Nerd," Grantaire said, but he scooped up the section of the newspaper and passed it over. Then he plucked a book off the shelf seemingly at random and curled up in the window seat.

Three hours passed in almost perfect quiet--they weren't discovered until just past midnight, when Grantaire's makeshift rope lock failed, and Enjolras' mother appeared in the doorway. She looked at Enjolras, and then at Grantaire, who had dozed off with the book in his lap and his head resting against the window.

"You are so predictable," she said, shaking her head at Enjolras. "Hiding in the _library_ , really?"

He shrugged. "It's too early for roses."

She pursed her lips at him, but didn't comment. "I heard you met Dante."

"I did. He seems very nice."

Her eyes flickered over to the window seat.

"Not nicer than Grantaire, though," Enjolras said firmly.

"I know. Incidentally, I came to remind you that it's a host's duty to bid his guests farewell and to thank them for coming."

Enjolras laid his book aside and stretched. "I don't suppose it's worth pointing out that you and Dad were the ones who threw this party?"

"Don't play semantics with me. I get enough of that in the Senate."

"All right, we'll be out in a minute," Enjolras said. When his mother left, he stood up and gently prodded Grantaire. "Hey, wake up. Party's ending, and we have to make another appearance."

"What's this _we_?" Grantaire muttered hazily. He opened his eyes and then heaved himself up from the window seat, yawning. "Okay, let's go, Enje. The sooner we kick everyone out of your house, the sooner we can go to bed."

Enjolras blinked. "Right." He took the hand that Grantaire offered and stifled a yawn of his own. "You know, Gatsby didn't have to say goodbye to all his guests," Enjolras muttered.

"And Gatsby, as we noted earlier, ended up dead in a pool, so I'd say you're still better off. Come on."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Richard is exactly who you think he is. Because you know their families would move in the same circles. ~~And also he is alive. Very much alive. Definitely not dead. Not dead at all.~~
>   * I don't think carbon-neutral wineries are technically a thing, but there are a few places that have [taken steps in that direction](http://www.winespectator.com/webfeature/show/id/French-Wineries-Target-Carbon-Emissions_4079). 
> 



	6. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Alcohol abuse.

**Wednesday**

 

The last guest hadn't left until after two. By then, Enjolras was so tired he nearly fell asleep while brushing his teeth.

In the morning, he woke up with the absurd sensation that his left arm was missing. He opened his eyes and, squinting in the dim room, discovered that this was because Grantaire was lying on it.

That, in itself, might not have been a problem. The _problem_ was that they had turned towards each other in their sleep, and Enjolras' leg was hooked over Grantaire's legs like it belonged there. If Grantaire woke up and found them like this, Enjolras would never, ever live it down.

He already knew that Grantaire was a light sleeper, so that was the only thing that kept Enjolras from immediately jumping out of bed. He disentangled his legs from Grantaire's, and then slowly set to work extricating his arm from beneath Grantaire's waist. His fingers burned with pins and needles as he slipped out of bed and got dressed, fumbling with the button on his jeans. He closed the bedroom door as quietly as he could and crept downstairs.

There was a note on the table--his mother had flown down to Washington to take care of some business, and his father was golfing with the Massachusetts attorney general and a few of their friends. Enjolras breathed a deep sigh of relief and grabbed a bowl of fruit from the kitchen. He sat in the breakfast nook with the newspaper and relished the silence.

It was just after noon when Grantaire came downstairs, dressed and showered but still hazy with sleep. Enjolras pushed the bowl of fruit--now down to grapes and the occasional strawberry--over to him without a word.

Grantaire's eyes lit up, and the look on his face when he bit into a strawberry was...well, frankly it was entirely unnecessary. They were good strawberries, sure, but he didn't think they were worthy of actual noises of pleasure. Enjolras drummed his fingertips on the table and waited for Grantaire to finish eating.

"So my parents will be gone for most of the day," Enjolras told him, "which means we have the day to ourselves. I know the whole boat thing didn't end very well, but do you want to go swimming?"

"I'm sort of lacking in proper attire for that."

"On the ferry you said you'd skinny-dip," Enjolras reminded him.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "You're not going to hold me to that, are you?"

Enjolras hesitated on the verge of calling his bluff, but he was afraid that Grantaire might actually go through with it. "No. I'm sure we can find you something."

He went back upstairs and found a spare pair of his own swim trunks for Grantaire. They weren't exactly built the same way, and it wasn't that the trunks were _too_ small, but when Grantaire emerged from the bathroom wearing them, it was...considerably more of Grantaire than Enjolras had ever seen before.

At least now he knew one thing: The tattoos did, in fact, extend below his hips.

Enjolras tossed a towel to him to hide his own confusion, and then went out onto the tiled patio to check the heater in the pool. It was holding steady at 72 degrees--significantly warmer than the air outside.

Enjolras sat down on the edge of the pool and started to lower himself in.

Grantaire laughed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting in the pool."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought you were the kind of person who _dives_ right into everything."

"Then I suppose you're the sort of person who dips his toe in the water and decides never to go in any deeper," Enjolras shot back, a little more sharply than he meant to.

Grantaire stepped back, and Enjolras half-turned, mouth already open to apologize. But then Grantaire took a running leap and cannonballed into the pool, soaking Enjolras with a wave of water. He came up gasping and shaking his head, flinging water in all directions.

"There," he said, smirking at Enjolras. "How's that for irony?"

Enjolras watched a drop of water slide down Grantaire's neck and into the dip of his collarbone.

 _Oh no_. Enjolras slid into the water and ducked his head, so that Grantaire wouldn't see his face. He surfaced again, pushing his hair back out of his eyes, and swam a couple of lazy laps to clear his head.

There wasn't anything _wrong_ with noticing. Grantaire was attractive in his own way, and it was perfectly okay to be attracted _to_ him. As long as Grantaire didn't find out. Ever. He'd assume that Enjolras had ulterior motives in bringing him out to the Vineyard, and he'd get upset and Enjolras would probably say something awful and they wouldn't speak for days.

He hated it when they weren't speaking.

It was just the circumstances, that was all. A crush brought on by proximity and a lack of other distractions. But then, he'd spent weeks with Combeferre, or Courfeyrac, or Jehan, and he'd never developed any...inappropriate feelings for them.

When he stopped to catch his breath, clinging to the edge of the pool, he saw that Grantaire had copied him, and was calmly backstroking his way across the length of the pool, flipping at each end with unerring accuracy.

Enjolras took a deep breath and went back to the breaststroke.

 

After a couple of hours and more laps than Enjolras was really accustomed to making, they climbed out of the pool. Grantaire wrapped himself in one of the enormous white towels, shivering. "Spring break, my ass," he muttered.

"Come inside. I was thinking about ordering a pizza for lunch, if that sounds okay."

"Pizza sounds amazing. I didn't know there was a delivery place out here."

"We're snobs, we're not _idiots_ ," Enjolras explained. "I think you can actually order capers on your pizza, but it's still a pizza place."

"Gross."

They went back inside, and Enjolras ordered pizza from his parents' landline. "What do you want on yours?" he asked, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder so that he could wrap the towel more tightly around his waist.

"Pepperoni and olives, hold the capers, please."

Enjolras made a face at him and ordered the pizza. They took turns showering to wash the chlorine off, and Enjolras was briefly treated to the sight of Grantaire in a pair of loose, faded jeans, wearing a towel wrapped around his head.

"What? It keeps my hair from dripping down the back of my neck," he said, pulling a shirt on. He walked back downstairs with his wobbling head held high.

They ate the pizza in front of the TV in the family room, switching between a series of inane daytime television shows.

Grantaire gave him a sidelong look when Enjolras flipped to C-SPAN.

"What?" Enjolras asked.

"Hoping to catch a particularly thrilling episode of _Real Senate Clerks of Capitol Hill_?"

"No. But I used to watch it when I was in middle school, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mom in the Senate hearings. This one's taped anyway."

It was a House subcommittee meeting from last fall, and another ten minutes could probably have cured all of Grantaire's sleep problems. He settled on classic Looney Toons instead.

When they'd both eaten their fill, Enjolras set his plate aside. "Do you mind if I check my email?" he asked. "I know it's really bad manners for a host, but I'm waiting to hear back from one of my potential internships, and--"

"Enjolras, relax. Go read your email, play some Candy Crush or whatever. I can entertain myself for a little while."

"It'll only take a couple of minutes," he promised, lifting his tablet off the end table.

"Take as long as you need, seriously. You don't have to be a proper host all the time. Or any of the time, for that matter."

"If you say so." Enjolras unlocked the tablet and opened his email--or tried to. Nothing happened when he tapped the icon, and the reception bars were empty.

"Ugh, wi-fi's down again," Enjolras said, setting the tablet down. "Hang on, I'm going to go cycle the router and see if that fixes it. I'll be right back."

The router was on a shelf in his mother's study, looking futuristic and alien on the antique oak shelves.  Enjolras reset the router and waited until the green lights blinked reassuringly again. He was on his way out of the room when he caught sight of a letter lying open on the edge of his mother's desk. He probably would have ignored it entirely, if it weren't for the Harvard crest at the top of the page. He glanced down at the letter.

_Dear Senator Enjolras...very grateful for your generous donation...endowment to be used for renovations and updates to the historical buildings of the campus..._

The letter was dated two months ago.

Enjolras had been accepted into Harvard Law School _one_ month ago. He took a stumbling step backwards from the desk.

He hadn't been accepted to Harvard on his own merits--his parents had _bought_ his way in. Suddenly every achievement, every success he'd had, seemed hollow. Suspect. His acceptance to Cornell--being valedictorian in high school--had he deserved _any_ of it? His whole identity was built on a foundation that suddenly seemed very fragile indeed. The implications were so awful he didn't even want to consider them.

"Enjolras?"

He jerked around to find Grantaire in the doorway. "You've been gone for like ten minutes, I wanted to--are you okay?"

Enjolras had no idea how to answer that question. He abandoned the desk and the letter and slipped past Grantaire in the doorway. "Come on," he said. He barely recognized his own voice.

Grantaire gave him a funny look, but he followed him down the hall to the kitchen and the cellar door. Enjolras switched on the light and started down the polished wooden stairs.

"Where are we going?" Grantaire asked.

"Wine cellar. This is why you came, isn't it?"

"Are we going to get in trouble for being down here?"

Enjolras turned around on the narrow staircase, his eyes dark. "Ask me if I _care_." He whirled back around and kept walking down the steps, leaving Grantaire with little choice but to follow.

The cellar was cool and pitch-dark beyond the foot of the stairs; Enjolras groped for the light-switch and flicked it on, bathing the wooden racks in a warm glow. Grantaire scanned the room in awe. "Oh, wow."

"Yeah. Let's find something expensive to drink."

"How expensive are we talking?" Grantaire said skeptically, following him through the room to the wine racks against the wall. Enjolras paused at the wet bar for a corkscrew, and Grantaire caught sight of a shelf of whisky behind the bar. "Here's more of that Chivas Regal..."

Enjolras shook his head. "Leave it. The really expensive stuff is in the back corner."

"Um, this is pretty expensive as it is. Are you sure you don't just want to--"

Enjolras kept walking.

"...Okay, then."

He was looking for something in particular--his father had bought half a crate of it at auction for a sum that would have served to buy a compact car, or six months' rent on a New York City apartment. It was possible the bottles were all gone, but he thought there might be a few left over...

 _Aha_. There were three left. Enjolras slid one green glass bottle from the shelf. "Here we go. '98 Petrus."

Grantaire's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hair. "Are you _kidding_?"

His reaction was gratifying, but Enjolras was still too upset to appreciate it. "No, I'm not kidding." He sat down on the floor, his back against the rough brick wall. "Are you going to join me?"

Grantaire frowned. "Look, I'm sure you've got a good reason to be drinking your parents' best wine, but--"

"But they don't deserve it? How do you know?"

"I'm objecting on behalf of the _wine_. A vintage like that deserves to be appreciated, not thrown back in a fit of pique."

"So what? When are you ever going to get another chance to drink a three-thousand-dollar bottle of wine?" Enjolras snapped.

"Gee, thanks for pointing that out," Grantaire said. "For a minute there, I almost forgot I was poor."

Enjolras winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean--"

"I know you didn't. Go on, then."

"There are glasses over at the bar, if you don't approve of drinking out of the bottle."

Grantaire rolled his eyes, but he fetched a pair of red-wine glasses from the bar. He sat down next to Enjolras just as he was twisting the cork out of the bottle.

It went better than he could have expected, considering that he was so upset that his hands were shaking. Grantaire held out the glasses and let Enjolras pour.

Enjolras set the bottle down, and Grantaire handed him a glass. "You know, we really should let it breathe--"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

"Cheers," Grantaire said hurriedly. He tapped his glass against Enjolras', and the crystal rang in the silence. Enjolras took a long swallow, watching Grantaire as he sipped the wine appreciatively.

His eyes widened. "Wow," he said.

"Good?"

"Worth every penny we paid," he said brightly, and Enjolras could only conjure a pale imitation of Grantaire's smile. He took another drink.

Grantaire eyed him over the rim of his glass. "So you want to tell me why we're raiding your parents' wine cellar? Or is this just generalized spite?"

Enjolras was still too sober for explanations, so he refilled his glass and handed the bottle to Grantaire, who poured himself half a glass before putting the bottle down on the floor between them.

"My parents made a massive donation to Harvard in February," Enjolras finally said.

"Isn't that something that all rich people do once in a while? Even if they didn't actually go there?"

"I got my acceptance letter in _March_."

"Oh. That's...poor timing."

"Yes."

"You think they bribed Harvard Law to accept you?"

"What am I _supposed_ to think?"

Grantaire paused, apparently to consider it. "That's bullshit, though. Why would they need a bribe to get you in? Law schools should be _fighting_ over you. You're so qualified it's actively ridiculous--there's no way Harvard would have turned you down."

"Well, I guess I'll never know now, will I?" He took another drink of the wine, which really _was_ good. It was too bad he wasn't in the mood to enjoy it.

"You're really worried about it, aren't you? You're afraid you weren't good enough to get in without a bribe."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not. But you can't really believe that you weren't good enough. You're off-the-charts brilliant. They'd be lucky to have you--you'd raise the IQ of the whole university."

He snorted. "I know I said something the other day about flattering me..."

"It's not flattery if you mean it."

Enjolras didn't know what to say to that, so he poured himself another glass, and then another. When he reached for the bottle again, it felt suspiciously light. He held it up and looked over at Grantaire. "Empty. Get us another one?"

"Enjolras..."

"There are two bottles left."

"Fine, but this is it. I am _not_ going to disgrace your parents' last bottle of Petrus," he warned. He stood up and pulled one of the remaining bottles from the shelf.

Enjolras sighed and tipped his head back against the wall, letting himself feel buoyed by the alcohol. It made for a nice cushion against all the anger and uncertainty, even though he knew he'd have to face the facts sooner or later--complete with what was probably going to be a truly awful hangover.

"Here." Grantaire presented him with the second bottle, already open. Enjolras poured himself a glass--very carefully--and lifted it in a casual toast.

Grantaire poured himself a drink.

"Oh, I'm sorry--I should have poured your glass first," Enjolras said, frowning. "You're the guest, after all."

"I'm pretty sure the etiquette rules don't apply when you're drinking on the floor of the wine cellar."

"Great." Enjolras drained his glass, considered trying to pour another one, and took a drink from the bottle instead. He sighed. "The worst part is," he began, and then he started over. "The worst part is that it's not just _this._ It casts doubt on _everything_. I mean, have I ever done anything that they didn't engineer?"

"You can't start thinking like that--it'll drive you crazy."

"But I have to know. I have to know how much of my life has been lies."

"Your life is not a lie, Enjolras. You're still _you_ , no matter what your parents say or do. Your academic achievements don't define you."

"Don't they?"

"Of course they don't. Your grades don't include the unfair university policies you've gotten changed, or the way that you can _mesmerize_ a group of people with a speech. They don't include all the things that you want to do with your law degree once you've got it. Or the fact that you were the one who stayed in town and took care of Combeferre after his top surgery last summer--and I _know_ , I'm not supposed to know about that, but he told me himself."

Enjolras felt his face heating up. "Now you really _are_ flattering me."

"No, I'm not. I'm saying that you're a _good person_. You're not perfect, but you always try to do the right thing. It doesn't matter how you got into Harvard--just what you do after you graduate."

Enjolras shook his head. "I wish I could believe that."

"Now there's something new. Me, trying to convince _you_ to believe in something," Grantaire said, smiling.

Enjolras frowned. His head was swimming, and the things Grantaire was saying were making him feel raw and vulnerable in a way he didn't think he liked. "You..." He eyed Grantaire darkly. "I don't understand you." Grantaire had said the same thing to him yesterday, hadn't he? When they were arguing about the suit. That probably meant something.

He shrugged. "I'm an open book. Ask me anything you want to."

"Why'd you come here?" Enjolras asked immediately.

"Because you asked me to."

Enjolras sighed. "That's not an answer."

"Yes, it is. I told you I'd polish your boots if you wanted. This is nicer than boot-polishing."

"Why, though?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you do something just because I asked you?"

Grantaire shook his head and poured them each another glass. "Because you're the boss, obviously. Cheers."

Enjolras tapped his glass against Grantaire's and took a sip. Then he frowned and put it down. "I think I'm kind of drunk."

"I think that might be true."

"And you know what? Six-thousand-dollar drunk doesn't feel any different from twenty-dollar drunk," he confessed.

Grantaire laughed. "I'm getting that as a tattoo."

"Don't you dare," Enjolras muttered. "I like your tattoos how they are."

"Do you?"

"Yes. They're so...so _you_ ," he concluded firmly. They suited him, like...like a...well. They did suit him, anyway.

"You doing okay?"

Enjolras shrugged and closed his eyes. He was warm and light-headed, and his shoulder was just brushing Grantaire's. He wondered how long they could stay here before someone came to find them and drag them back into the real world.

"Your parents are going to be home soon," Grantaire said.

Apparently, not very long. "Yeah."

"Do you want them to know you were down here?"

"I really couldn't give less of a fuck," Enjolras replied.

"I...have never heard you say that word before."

He laughed. "Maybe you just haven't been listening."

"No," he said quietly. "I always listen to you."

"So you can argue with me."

"Yes, of course that's why," Grantaire concluded, patting Enjolras' shoulder. "Come on, Enje, put the bottle down. If we're lucky, your parents won't come looking for that Petrus until we're back at school." He stood up and held out a hand to help Enjolras up. Enjolras took it, and Grantaire hauled him to his feet.

The floor seemed to tilt under him, and he leaned back against the wall for balance. "Oooh." Sitting down, he hadn't felt too drunk. But now that he was standing, it was another matter entirely.

Grantaire laughed. "So that's why you hardly ever drink. You can't hold your liquor!"

"That is _not_ true." He frowned. "It might be a little true."

"You think you can walk?"

He glared. "I can walk."

"Okay. Come on, then. We're going to get you like six glasses of water, and then you're going to bed."

Enjolras pushed off the wall and made his way across the cellar towards the staircase. He felt like he was trying to cross _Patria_ 's deck on high seas.

At the bottom of the stairs, he paused to gather himself, and Grantaire slid an arm around his waist.

"What are you doing? I am not that easy."

Grantaire snorted. "Nothing about you is _easy_. But you're going to fall and kill yourself if you try to walk up these stairs alone, so let me help you, okay?"

He had a point. "Fine," Enjolras said. He let Grantaire escort him up the cellar stairs and into the kitchen. He didn't remember distances being this _large_ before--the hallway opened up in front of them like an impassable expanse of desert. He was so _tired_...

They passed the dining room and stepped into the living room, making for the staircase. But a voice stopped them in their tracks.

"What's going on here?"

 _Oh, shit_. Either his parents were home early, or they'd spent longer in the wine cellar than he'd thought. Enjolras' stomach twisted, and he didn't think it had much to do with the wine.

Grantaire's arm tightened around Enjolras' waist, his fingers curling over the ridge of Enjolras' hip; it felt good, that Grantaire was holding him.

Upright. Holding him _upright_.

"Enjolras, are you _drunk_?" his father asked.

"Yeah," Grantaire said grimly. "He is. See, Enjolras found out that you bribed Harvard Law to accept him. I say it's a waste of money, since he was going to get in anyway, but he seems to have taken it personally. He thinks you didn't have enough faith in him to believe he would get in on his own merits, so you had to slip an endowment in there to put the odds in your favor. That's a great vote of confidence, really. Stellar parenting skills. I'd applaud, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only thing holding him up right now, because he was so upset he decided to get smashed. I've known him for three years and I have _never_ seen him upset to the point of self-destructive behavior, so congratulations."

Enjolras liked listening to Grantaire. In fact, he would have liked to listen to him a little longer--he had a nice voice, and he liked it when Grantaire was arguing with someone who wasn't him. But he'd gone from feeling hazy and drunk to feeling suddenly _awful_ , his stomach going sour and the first pang of a massive headache throbbing behind his eyes. He sighed. "Grantaire..."

"Hang on a minute, I'm not done yelling at your parents."

"Grantaire, I _really_ don't feel good," he muttered. He didn't want to get sick in the living room. It would be seriously undignified.

"Oh. Okay, let's get you to bed." He glared at Enjolras' parents. "Don't call us down for breakfast. Or lunch, for that matter."

Climbing the stairs was an arduous process. At one point, Grantaire offered to carry him, and Enjolras almost pushed him down the stairs. After a lot of stumbling and clutching at banisters, they made it to the top and then to the bedroom.

Enjolras wanted nothing more than to flop down on the bed and sleep, but he knew that sudden movements were a very, very bad idea. He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"Well," Grantaire said, "it's a good thing I don't need your parents to like me."

Enjolras peered up at him. "You realize you just bawled out a _United States Senator_."

"She deserved it," Grantaire said crossly. "Look what she did to you."

" _I_ did this to me."

"You're too drunk to play semantics. How do you feel?"

"Awful."

"You think you're going to be sick?"

"I don't know," he said miserably.

"Okay, hang on." Grantaire got up and went into the bathroom. He came out a moment later with a glass of water. "Drink this."

"Do I have to?" Enjolras asked. He curled both hands around the cool glass.

"Yes. It'll help."

"I'll throw it up."

"Actually, that would help too."

Enjolras sighed but obediently drank the glass of water. It didn't make him feel any better, but he didn't feel much worse, either. Except...

"I, um...I have to pee."

"Okay. Do you want me to--?"

Enjolras glared at him with every bit of venom he could muster; it probably wasn't much. " _No_ , I do not."

Grantaire held up both hands. "If you pass out, try not to hit the edge of the sink or anything."

Enjolras made sure the door slammed shut behind him. He did what needed to be done, and then he splashed some water on his face. He didn't _look_ as bad as he felt, not quite, but his face was red and a little bit blotchy, like he'd been crying.

He supposed this was just a different sort of tantrum. He dragged himself back into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You want to sleep?" Grantaire asked.

He nodded; it was all he could do to hold his head up.

"Do you want to change first?"

"Not particularly." Enjolras frowned. " _Particularly_." The word sounded absurd when you said it like that. He said it a few more times, enjoying the way it felt on his tongue.

"Let's get your shoes off at least." Grantaire knelt down in front of him and untied Enjolras' shoes. It was weird, looking down at Grantaire from this angle. It made him think incredibly inappropriate things.

All things considered, sliding his hand through Grantaire's hair was on the _less_ inappropriate end of the scale.

Grantaire looked up. "What are you doing?" he asked carefully.

"'Playing with your hair?"

"Fair enough. The better question would probably be _why_..."

"I like your hair," Enjolras said.

"Uh-huh." Grantaire stood up. He put a hand on Enjolras' shoulder and gently pushed him back to lie down. "Here, lie down on your side."

"Why?"

"Because you'll be closer to the trash can I'm putting here, in case you _do_ need to get sick."

"Oh. Okay." Enjolras curled up on his side and let Grantaire tug the blanket over him.

Grantaire crossed the room to the armchair that was tucked away beside the window, and he dragged it over until it was sitting beside the bed. Grantaire curled up in it. "There. If you need anything, just say so. I'll be right here."

Enjolras lifted his head. "What? No, you don't have to..."

"Nowhere else I'd rather be," Grantaire said easily. "I mean, considering the other option is hanging out with your parents, who probably kind of hate me right now, this is really my best choice. But I mean it."

Enjolras let his head fall back to the pillow with a sigh. "Thank you."

"Hm?"

"For letting me vent. And for...taking care of me."

"What are boyfriends for?" Grantaire asked, and Enjolras closed his eyes.

 

"You're not Gatsby," Grantaire said, sometime later. His voice was so quiet that Enjolras wasn't sure he'd been meant to hear it.

He opened his eyes. "What?"

"At the party last night, you kept comparing yourself to Gatsby, but you're not like him. You're Nick, part of that life but still separate from it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"Then who does that make you?"

Grantaire laughed softly. "Well, can't you guess, old sport? Look at me, pretending that I can fit in with these people, acting like I'm one of them. I might look the part but I'll never be able to _play_ the part, not really, and they all know it."

Enjolras fixed a weary frown on him. "That's not true at all."

"Yes, it is."

"What's your green light, then?" he asked, closing his eyes again.

For a moment, he thought he felt a fleeting touch on his hair. "I think you know that, too," Grantaire said softly, and then Enjolras was asleep again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * A bottle of 1998 Petrus typically sells for over $3,000. Enjolras is taking expensive revenge.
> 



	7. Thursday

**Thursday**

 

He didn't want to open his eyes. The room was dim, but it was also warm, suggesting that it was much later than he usually woke up. He could already feel the dull thudding of a headache behind his eyes, and he knew that opening them was just going to make things worse.

He definitely regretted opening that second bottle. Enjolras steeled himself and opened his eyes.

The drawn curtains were a blessing; the light didn't do much to make his headache worse. He sat up to take stock of the situation, which made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

He was alone in the bedroom. The bedside clock said 11:32, and the nightstand held a pair of aspirin, a glass of water...

...and his own ragged, dog-eared copy of _The Great Gatsby_. He couldn't help but smile. He swallowed the aspirin with most of the glass of water, sat very still in the hopes that he wasn't going to be sick, and then finally curled up against the headboard and picked up the book.

His headache was beginning to fade, and Myrtle was just making her first appearance in the novel when there was a gentle knock on the door, and Grantaire peered in. "Hey, you're awake."

"Sort of," Enjolras said.

He slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. "How do you feel?"

"Awful," Enjolras admitted. "But getting better, I think. Why'd you let me open that second bottle?"

"Could I have stopped you?"

Enjolras winced instead of answering. "Remind me not to do that ever again."

"I don't think I'll have to." Grantaire sat down in the armchair by the bed, which triggered a vague half-memory in Enjolras' mind. Something that Grantaire had said last night, something about the book...but even as he reached for it, the memory dissipated.

"Do you think they've realized it's gone yet?" Enjolras asked.

"Don't look at me. I put the empty bottles back in the rack before we went upstairs. They won't know until they pull the bottle out to drink it."

"By which point, we'll be miles away. Good."

"I'm not good for much, but I do know how to cover my tracks."

Enjolras frowned. "You're good for lots of things."

Grantaire looked up, startled. "Since when?"

"Since...always," Enjolras said. "Anyway, thanks for bringing me the book."

Grantaire shrugged. "Well, you said you liked to read it when you weren't feeling well, so I went to see if I could find your copy. I was _shocked_ to see that you'd written in it, though."

"I tried to mark up a digital copy, but it wasn't the same." He hoped Grantaire hadn't read all the notes--some of them were a little more introspective than literary in nature.

Grantaire sat back down in the armchair. "Poor Gatsby. Carrying that torch his whole life for a woman who's too careless to love him back."

"That's overly simplistic," Enjolras countered. "She's as trapped as Gatsby is, in her way." He marked his place and laid the book aside. "He would have done better to move back to California and fall in love with someone else, though."

"Oh, undeniably," Grantaire replied, smiling. "But that's not a choice we get to make, is it?"

"No, I suppose not." Enjolras hesitated. "Um...when you were downstairs, did you happen to see either of my parents?"

"Yeah. Your mom made me breakfast, and your dad wanted to know if you needed anything. I think he was worried about you."

"Did they say anything about...?"

"The wine? No. The Harvard thing? Also no."

Enjolras decided to operate on the policy that no news was good news. He knew that the conversation was coming, but he wanted to wait at least until the hangover faded.

"Oh, and they said that if you didn't want to go to the party tonight, that was okay."

"What? No, we're going to the Benningtons' tonight. I should be there."

"No, you _should_ drink about three more glasses of water, set your clock for Friday, and go back to sleep."

Enjolras smiled. "I'll rephrase that. I actually _want_ to go to this one."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You'll see why. But right now I need a shower." He pushed the covers back and stood up, then closed his eyes and waited for the head-rush to fade.

"You sure you don't want me to run you a bath or something?"

Enjolras turned his head sharply and immediately regretted the motion. "What?"

"I didn't mean--you just look like you might fall over, and falling over in the bathtub is generally something to be avoided."

"I can manage."

"All right. You want me to bring you something to eat?"

Enjolras' stomach turned. His revulsion must have shown on his face, because Grantaire laughed.

"Yeah, that's about what I thought. You've never been this hungover before, have you?"

Enjolras shook his head fractionally.

"Then, as the voice of experience in this room, I'm going to suggest saltine crackers. It's like, impossible to get sick on those."

"Okay."

"So now I'm going to go away and let you shower in peace. Yell really loud if you fall down and die, okay?"

"Just _go_ ," Enjolras said. He closed the bathroom door before Grantaire could catch him smiling.

The hot water helped finish what the aspirin had started, and by the time he stepped out of the shower, Enjolras felt almost human again. He peered out into the bedroom, but Grantaire was nowhere to be found, so he dressed quickly and rubbed most of the water out of his hair with the towel.

Grantaire knocked on the door and opened it a little. "Are you decent?"

"Yes," Enjolras replied, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt.

Grantaire swung the door wide enough to step into the room. He was carrying a plate and an entire pitcher of filtered water. He gracefully kicked the door closed.

"Sorry. I forgot your family isn't the saltine-cracker type, but these are pretty close. I mean, I had one, and they basically taste like nothing, which is really what you want at this juncture." Grantaire handed him a plate full of artfully arranged water crackers. Enjolras took the plate, and Grantaire pulled back quickly, before their hands could brush.

"Thanks." Enjolras nibbled on a few while reading a bit more of _The Great Gatsby_ , but when his eyelids started drooping at the end of every page, he laid it aside.

He looked over at Grantaire, who was staring listlessly at his phone, lost in thought.

"Are you okay?" Enjolras asked.

"What? Yeah, why?"

"You just seem...quiet. Did you ever come to bed last night?" he asked. It was the kind of question that should have been asked by someone thirty years into a failing marriage, not someone who'd been fake-dating his partner for less than a week.

"Slept in the chair," Grantaire said.

"In the _chair_? Why would you do that? You barely sleep as it is, why would you complicate it by--"

"I had to make sure you weren't going to choke on your own vomit and die," Grantaire snapped.

Enjolras pulled back. "What? But I never got sick last night..." _Did I_? he almost asked.

"No, but I didn't _know_ you weren't going to." Grantaire's face was drawn, and his lips were pressed tightly together. Enjolras had seen that look before, after a few or their more intense interactions with campus security, but he'd always taken the expression for anger.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Enjolras said quietly. "I shouldn't have taken things as far as I did."

"It's okay. I'm not exactly a stranger to taking things to extremes, myself."

He smiled and covered his mouth to hide a yawn.

"You need a nap," Grantaire said.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Dr. Grantaire."

"Hey, I'm just saying. You're the one who wants to go to a party tonight, so you better save your strength."

"I guess," Enjolras said doubtfully. The pillows _did_ look inviting... "What about you?" he asked, before he stopped to think.

"What do you mean?"

"If you spent the night in the chair, you probably didn't get much sleep. And I bet your neck is stiff, too."

Grantaire rolled his eyes, but he didn't try to deny it.

Enjolras nodded to the pillow next to him. "So why don't we both lie down for a couple of hours, and then we can be more or less functional by the time the party starts."

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Mind what? We've been sharing for a week now." Enjolras was struck by the realization that they only had a couple of days left here. Part of him, as always, was looking forward to escaping the rarefied air of the Vineyard, but the rest of him was going to be sorry that this was over.

"All right, then." Grantaire came around to the other side of the bed, toed off his shoes, and crawled beneath the blanket next to Enjolras.

It did seem different, to be lying down together by choice as opposed to necessity. But the room was warm and quiet, and as soon as Enjolras closed his eyes he found himself drifting...

 

After the nap and another couple of aspirin, Enjolras felt a little bit more like himself. When he went downstairs with Grantaire, his parents didn't say a word about the Harvard business, Grantaire's lecture, or the Petrus, and Enjolras was happy enough to avoid the subject for the time being.

"Are you feeling better?" Michel asked, looking up from his laptop. He looked a little guilty, and Enjolras was just petty enough to appreciate that.

"I'm all right," he said, and that was it. Michel didn't attempt to explain away the Harvard thing, which was probably a good move at this juncture. Enjolras wouldn't be able to believe a word he said right now, anyway.

They spent as much of the afternoon as possible hiding out in the library or Enjolras' room--anywhere they could be guaranteed at least a few moments of peace. Grantaire sketched, and Enjolras read. He finished _The Great Gatsby_ and moved on to a paperback copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ that he'd inexplicably found under his bed.

The painting of Edmond Dantès on the cover looked a little bit like Grantaire.

Enjolras' phone buzzed, and he glanced over at the nightstand where it had lain since the night before. He frowned and crossed the room to pick it up, and then he froze.

Blinking on the screen was an email notification.

"Enje? You okay?"

"I'm...not sure."

Grantaire frowned at him. "Are you still feeling sick?"

If he was, it was for a different reason. "Yesterday, I was going to check my email, but the wi-fi was down, and then the Harvard thing happened, and--I never looked at it."

"You got something? From the internship people?"

Enjolras nodded, staring at the tiny notification and the brief portion of the sender, which only read _Egal..._

"So? What does it say?" Grantaire prompted.

"I'm afraid to open it."

"The longer you wait, the harder it's going to be," Grantaire said.

Enjolras dimly registered the attempt at innuendo, but he didn't have any attention to spare for it right now.

"Just open it."

Enjolras tapped the notification and held his breath while it loaded.

_Dear Philippe Enjolras--_

_We are pleased to offer you an internship with Egalité International_...

The message went on for a few paragraphs, but Enjolras' head was already spinning. He looked up.

" _Well_?" Grantaire said, his voice pitched an octave higher than usual. "Don't keep me in suspense here."

"I got it," he said dazedly. "I got the internship."

Grantaire let out a whoop and threw his arms around Enjolras. Enjolras stiffened, startled, but returned the hug for a moment before Grantaire stepped back, frowning.

"You're going to take it, right? You _have_ to take it, this is everything you wanted."

"I know," Enjolras said quietly. "I _know_. It's just...I don't know how I'm supposed to tell my parents."

"Don't tell them. Pretend you're going to Harvard, then leave for your internship instead. Send the occasional email about how nice Cambridge is in the fall."

Enjolras bit down on a smile. " _Grantaire_. I can't lie to them."

"You're lying to them _right now_."

"I can't lie to them about something like this. For one thing, they'd insist on driving out to visit me over weekends, and I don't know where Egalité International is going to place me. I can't make trans-Atlantic flights two or three times a month. The frequent flier miles alone would tip them off eventually."

"Okay, so you're going to have to tell them. But I don't think it'll be as hard as you expect, especially if you do it soon. I think you caught them off-guard with the whole drink-your-problems-away thing. Which is _my_ trademark, I'll have you know, but just this once I'll allow its use."

"I'm very grateful," Enjolras said dryly.

A knock sounded on the door. Enjolras pulled it open to reveal his father, carrying a pair of garment bags. "Your mother would like you to be ready in an hour," he said.

Enjolras nodded. "Okay." He closed the door and hung the garment bags on the hook inside the closet door.

Grantaire lifted his off the hook almost immediately. "It's going to take me an hour to get pretty, at least," he said. "I'd better get started. Can I borrow your cufflinks again?"

"If you want them, yeah." Enjolras was going to make sure that the silver pair Grantaire had worn on Tuesday ended up in Grantaire's suitcase before they left.

"So whose party is this, again? And why are you so insistent on going?" Grantaire asked, unzipping the garment bag.

"It's at Ada and Molly Bennington's. They're my godmothers. Honestly, if it had been anyone else's party, I would have skipped it, but they're wonderful--I'll introduce you this evening, if I can."

Grantaire smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket, still on its hangar. "Are you going to wear what you wore on Tuesday?"

"Probably not. Ada and Molly never bother with anything more than smart casual, anyway."

"Which means _what_ , exactly?"

"Almost anything. Ada will love you no matter what you're wearing."

Grantaire gave him a sidelong look. "She doesn't sound like your average party host."

"Trust me," Enjolras said, smiling. "There is _nothing_ average about Ada Bennington."

 

Grantaire ended up throwing the suit jacket on over a t-shirt and an alarmingly tight pair of jeans, something was probably borderline sacrilegious but looked fantastic. "How do you do that?" Enjolras muttered.

"Do what?"

"If I tried to dress like you, I'd look ridiculous."

"Are you saying I _don't_ look ridiculous?" Grantaire asked brightly.

"Of course not. You look--um--fine."

"Oh, okay. _Fine_." His smile was a little wry.

"I didn't mean--"

"No, no, I understand. Coming from you, that means a lot."

Enjolras frowned. "It does?"

"Well...kind of. Compliments aren't really your forte. Or maybe they are, only they're just never directed at me."

"I'm sorry--"

"Stop that," Grantaire said. "It's all right."

It wasn't, though. Enjolras hadn't realized how harsh he'd been to Grantaire in the past. The problem was how to fix it without Grantaire _knowing_ that he was trying to fix it. At this point, anything nice he said to Grantaire was cause for notice, and that...wasn't good.

At a loss, he ducked into the bathroom to change.

 

He'd been trying all day to come up with a reason to drive to the Benningtons' with Grantaire instead of riding with his parents, but the environmental waste of taking two cars was a little too much for him to bear. That was how they ended up sitting in the back seat of his parents' Bentley, driving east across the island.

Enjolras was gazing absently out the window, which was why he jumped when Grantaire covered Enjolras' hand with his own. He turned to look at Grantaire, frowning, but Grantaire just nodded up at the rearview mirror, which Katherine was using more often than safe-driving procedures typically required. Enjolras turned his hand beneath Grantaire's and let their fingers tangle together.

Ada and Molly's house was older than Enjolras' parents' house, old enough that the carriage house in the back had once been home to an actual carriage. Their property was bordered on one side by a wide fresh-water lake, and on the other three sides by the woods.

They parked at the side of the long drive leading up to the house, and Enjolras and Grantaire hung back in the foyer while Katherine and Michel went into instant party mode, all restrained laughter and sparkling wit. Enjolras craned his neck to see over the crowd until he caught sight of a familiar silver-gray bob ahead of them. A smile slid across his face, and he took Grantaire's hand. "Come on, I want to introduce you."

As soon as Ada caught sight of him, she excused herself from her conversation and wrapped Enjolras in a hug that was still absolutely bone-crushing, even though Ada was pushing eighty.

Enjolras stepped back, grinning. "Grantaire, this is Ada Bennington. Ada, this is Grantaire."

Ada's smile widened. "Oh, you sly dog," she said to Enjolras. "Are your parents throwing a fit?"

"Not exactly. I think he's winning them over."

"Oh, I'm sure he is."

Grantaire made a face. "I'm _right here_ , you know."

"Of course you are, dear," Ada said consolingly. "You're difficult to miss."

"Yeah, you can really smell the working-class wafting off of me."

"I was thinking more in terms of your absolutely striking blue eyes," she countered.

Grantaire flushed to the tips of his ears. "Hey, did you know Enjolras got an internship with _Egalité International_?"

"Grantaire!" Enjolras elbowed him sharply.

"What? Oh, were you going to make a grand announcement? Was there going to be another party?"

Enjolras shuddered.

"That's what I thought."

"I'm so proud of you," Ada said. "Of course, Molly and I never doubted for a moment that you would do whatever you set your mind to doing."

Enjolras ducked his head. "How is Molly?" he asked carefully.

Ada's smile turned sad. "She asks after you, when she remembers."

"Really?"

"All the time. We've moved out to the carriage house, you know--easier to get her around without all the stairs. She's not up to parties anymore, but she's had a good day today, if you want to go and see her."

"I'd love to--if it won't bother her."

"Not at all. It'll do her good to see you, even though she may not know you."

Enjolras recognized the look in Ada's eyes and tried to temper his expectations. "Thanks, Ada. We'll be back." He slipped out of the house through the kitchen, back towards the carriage house and the boat dock beyond it.

"Hey, Enjolras?" Grantaire asked, still waiting by the back door. "Do you want me to just...?" He nodded back at the party.

"No, I want you to meet her. She's...she hasn't been doing very well, but she and Ada--like I said, they're my godmothers. They've always been important to me."

"Okay, then. Lead the way."

Enjolras started down the brick path to the carriage house, past the edge of the lake that made up the eastern border of Ada and Molly's property. There were lights on inside, and a wheelchair ramp leading up to the front door. Enjolras knocked quietly, and the door opened to reveal a man in a nurse's scrubs with a tablet under one arm.

"Hi," Enjolras said. "Ada said we could come in and see Molly?"

"Sure." He held the door wide to let them in. "Just for a few minutes, I think. After a while, she starts to sense that she's forgetting something, and it upsets her."

Enjolras nods. "We'll be quick. Thank you so much."

"She's in the sitting room, just down the hall."

Enjolras stepped into the sitting room to find a fire lit in the fireplace, and Molly's wheelchair settled in front of the wide bay window overlooking the dock.

"Hi, Molly."

She turned a bright smile on him. " _Michel_ , what a lovely surprise! Come in, sit down. Have you brought your young woman with you today?"

Enjolras' step faltered, but only for the space of a second. Ada had told him not to expect much, but it was still a sharp shock to hear Molly call him by his father's name. He loved her far too much to correct her, so he just sat down on the window-seat and gestured for Grantaire to sit beside him.

"No, Katherine isn't here tonight," he said. "But I brought a friend of mine. Grantaire, this is Molly Bennington. Molly, this is my--my friend Grantaire."

She smiled and shook Grantaire's hand. "A pleasure. Any friend of Michel's is always welcome here. What is it that you do? Are you another lawyer?"

"Oh--no, ma'am," Grantaire said quickly. "I'm an artist."

"An artist! How lovely. Michel, are you consorting with bohemians these days? I'm so pleased."

"I'm learning to loosen up a little," he replied, glancing over at Grantaire.

"Good for you. You've always been a bit _serious_ , you know. It'll make you gray before your time."

Enjolras thought of his father's monthly hair-dresser appointments and hid a smile.

"Is Katherine here?" she asked again, frowning.

"Not tonight," Enjolras said. "But I'll tell her you said hello."

"Good, good." Molly straightened the blanket across her lap and turned a serious look on Enjolras. "Now. Tell me all about my godson. How is he doing? Is school going well? Lord, is he in the second grade already?"

Enjolras' breath froze in his throat, and he knew he wouldn't be able to speak without his voice breaking.

Grantaire stepped in to save him. "He's amazing, Molly. He's so smart, and he's brave--and he's kind, too. You should be very proud of him."

"Oh, I am," she said. "Will you tell him I said hello? And that I miss him."

Enjolras took a deep, shivering breath. "He--he misses you too, Molly. You don't know how much." He stood up. "It was wonderful to see you. You take care of Ada, all right?"

Molly smiled. "Oh, my Ada takes care of me now, you know."

Enjolras bent to kiss her cheek. "Love you," he whispered, and he walked out the door before his face could crumple. He was vaguely aware of Grantaire saying his goodbyes, but he let himself out of the carriage house anyway, and waited for Grantaire to catch up with him. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold bricks.

The door clicked shut again, and he heard Grantaire's step on the wooden ramp.

"Are you okay?" Grantaire asked. "God, I'm sorry, that was a shitty question. Of course you're not okay. I--is there anything I can do? Do you want a hug?"

Enjolras gave a weak laugh and shook his head. "No. I appreciate it, but I'll break down if you do. I can keep it together as long as nobody is _nice_ to me."

"I can be mean, if it would help. Or I can go around the corner here and give you a minute."

"Would you mind? I don't want to be rude, I just..."

"Enjolras. _Relax_. Take all the time you need. I'll be right over here." Grantaire stepped around the corner of the carriage house, leaving Enjolras alone for the moment.

He'd known better than to hope that she would recognize him, but it still hurt. And he was out on the Vineyard so rarely, there was no telling which visit with Molly might be the last. At least she hadn't seemed unhappy, but it was so hard...he couldn't imagine how much harder it must be for Ada.

He took a few shaky breaths, wiped his eyes, and walked around the corner to Grantaire.

"Do I look okay?" he asked.

"That's a loaded question."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Can you tell I've been crying?"

"Nah. Lucky you--I get all blotchy when I'm upset. You look great. Do you want to go back in to the party?"

"I guess we probably should."

"We can get your parents to take us home, if you don't feel like partying. You _did_ have a pretty spectacular hangover this morning, so that can be your excuse, if you want."

"No, let's go back in, or Ada will think we've stolen her rowboat and turned pirate."

"Why would she think that?" Grantaire asked, following Enjolras up the walk.

"Because I did once, when I was eight. Granted, I was too little to really _row_ , so I just bobbed along in the shallows until Molly swam out to fetch me home. At the time I thought it was a grand adventure."

"Captain Enjolras. I can see it," Grantaire said, grinning. He pulled open the door and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way.

Once they were back inside, with the party spinning on around them, Enjolras found it a little easier to breathe. He lifted a pair of champagne glasses off a tray and handed one to Grantaire. "So," he said, and his voice was steady now. "Those are my godmothers."

"They're amazing."

"Good. If you hadn't liked them, I would have had to break up with you immediately."

"I do," Grantaire reassured him. "Even if Ada's wrong about my eyes."

"She's not wrong," Enjolras said absently.

" _What_?"

"Oh, don't make a scene. You _have_ to know how you look in that suit. It probably shouldn't be legal."

Grantaire choked on a mouthful of champagne. "How much have you had to drink, Enjolras?"

"This is my first glass." And he was still working himself up to take a sip, considering yesterday's debacle.

"Then how much have _I_ had to drink? Because I could have sworn you said that--"

"Grantaire. Please don't push it."

He sighed. "All my fake boyfriends tell me that," he said mournfully.

"Shh," Enjolras hissed. "Don't blow our cover now."

"Right, right." Grantaire let his free hand fall, curling his fingers around Enjolras' hand. His thumb rubbed lightly over the bone in Enjolras' wrist, and he shivered.

Conversation ebbed and flowed around them. A few people stopped to talk to Enjolras, mostly friends of his parents. He hoped Grantaire wasn't getting too bored. He'd been quiet all day, and Enjolras was starting to wonder if he was unhappy about something.

He'd made up his mind to ask Grantaire if everything was all right, but when he looked over at Grantaire, he was grinning.

"What?" Enjolras asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said. "Don't go anywhere."

"Where would I go?" Enjolras countered, but Grantaire was already slipping off into the crowd.

Enjolras sipped his champagne and scanned the room while he waited. A lot of his parents' friends were there, which meant that the party was at least as much business as pleasure. Enjolras caught sight of Hassan at the edge of the room. Grantaire would be disappointed to find out that he'd traded out his yellow bow tie for an honest-to-goodness ascot and a pair of khaki chinos. He was laughing with, and standing _very_ close to, Dante the human rights lawyer from Tuesday night.

So his parents' matchmaking work hadn't gone to waste, after all.

Grantaire had been gone for nearly five minutes, and Enjolras was beginning to--not _worry_ , worry was too strong a word, but he was getting concerned. It wasn't like anything particularly awful could happen at these parties. He had probably gotten cornered by someone his parents' age and was even now trying to escape some incredibly dull political conversation. Enjolras ought to find him and rescue him.

The front hall was open to the second story, so the top of the stairs gave Enjolras a clear vantage point for most of the party. He climbed up and looked down over the sea of people, hoping to pick out Grantaire's curls from among the crowd.

It was more difficult than he'd expected. Grantaire wasn't exactly tall, which didn't help matters. Maybe he'd stepped outside to cool off, or gone back to the kitchen for another glass of champagne--

There he was.

Enjolras was right--he _had_ been backed into a corner, but not by a politician. Montparnasse was looming in front of him, neatly but subtly blocking any easy method of escape. If there was a conversation happening, it was clear that Monty was doing all of the talking.

Enjolras took the stairs down two at a time and pushed through the party as quickly as he could, throwing a nod and an apologetic smile at the few people who tried to draw him into a conversation.

Neither one of them saw him coming, so Enjolras heard every word that Monty was saying.

"What do you think you're doing with him, anyway?" Monty asked. "How far do you think he's going to get with a scruffy, social-climbing boyfriend hanging around his neck like an albatross?"

Grantaire winced.

Monty laid a hand on Grantaire's shoulder and leaned in close. "I know it sounds harsh, but I'm trying to do you a favor, here," he said, in an oh-so-reasonable voice. "You know it has to end eventually, and the longer you wait, the more it's going to hurt."

Grantaire wasn't even _arguing_ , he was just standing there, looking down at the floor with his jaw clenched tight.

He wasn't arguing, because he believed every word Monty was saying. That he wasn't good enough, that there was no hope...

That, more than anything else, sparked Enjolras' annoyance into anger, and he stepped in between Grantaire and Monty. "Get the hell away from him," he snarled, shocked by the sound of his own voice.

Monty blinked, and Enjolras watched the smug, sly smile settle across his face like a mask. "Enje! We were just talking about you. Why didn't you introduce me to Grantaire on Tuesday?"

"Don't act like you were just being friendly. I heard what you said."

He shrugged. "Was any of it untrue?"

"Every word. Don't come anywhere near either of us for the rest of the evening." Enjolras held out a hand, and Grantaire took it, looking shell-shocked.

Monty just shook his head. "You could do so much better," he said sadly.

Enjolras glanced at Monty, and then gave Grantaire a lingering once-over. "Actually, I think I'm already moving up."

They brushed past Monty, leaving him speechless in their wake. The room was too hot, and Enjolras felt like his skin was too tight. He'd never dreamed that Monty would sink that low--

"Are you okay?"

He laughed. "Am _I_ okay? You're the one he cornered, the one he said those horrible things to..."

"Yeah, well. It isn't like he was wrong, is it? You'd never get anywhere in your life if you were chained to me."

"That isn't true," Enjolras said fiercely. He squeezed Grantaire's hand gently. "Don't let Monty get into your head like that. Don't give him what he wants."

Grantaire nodded and looked away. He braved a wan smile. "He's still over there in the corner," he said. "If looks could kill, you'd need a new fake boyfriend."

"I hope he keeps his distance. If he tries to say another word to either of us, I might punch him."

"He's not worth the trouble it would cause," Grantaire said. "No offense, but what did you _see_ in that guy?"

"I don't know. He was hot, and clever, and he wanted me. And I was curious, and shallow enough to be flattered by his attention, so..." He shrugged. "Also, my parents wouldn't have approved, which was another point in his favor."

Grantaire's spine went stiff. "You mean, like with me."

"No, not like that. You're a buffer between me and them. Montparnasse was active antagonism--or would have been, if I could have put up with him long enough to bring him over for dinner."

"I see," he said, but his voice was still sharp.

"Did I ever thank you for coming with me?" Enjolras asked. "This week would have been miserable without you. And I hope--I hope it hasn't been so awful for you, either?" He was surprised to realize how important Grantaire's answer was to him.

Grantaire sighed. "I never said that." He looked up over Enjolras' shoulder, and a truly wicked smile crossed his face. "He's headed this way. I can do something that'll really piss him off, but I have to have your permission."

"Are you going to kiss me?" Enjolras asked.

"No, a kiss won't work in this situation," Grantaire said, and Enjolras tried to convince himself that he wasn't disappointed. "A kiss is a romantic gesture. I know people like Monty, and they don't think in those terms. They think in terms of territory, of possession. I want to grab your ass."

" _What_?"

"It's possessive. Lets everyone know who owns you. Obviously in this case it's just part of the act, and I would never do anything like that without my partner's permission, which is why I'm asking."

The more Enjolras considered it, the more Grantaire's point made sense. Monty hadn't been much for kissing when they were together. And it did seem like the sort of thing that Monty would understand.

"Okay, just let me know when you-- _oh_!" Grantaire's hand dropped to Enjolras' ass and squeezed. He jumped and swatted at Grantaire's shoulder. "Asshole," he hissed.

Grantaire grinned. "Sorry. If I'd warned you I wouldn't have gotten the reaction that an ass-grab of that caliber deserved. Now, tell me--is Monty still watching us?"

Enjolras scanned the room casually. "No. I don't see him anywhere."

"Problem solved."

"I guess," Enjolras said. In some ways, having Monty out of sight was even more disquieting, but at least he wasn't trying to burn a hole in Grantaire's forehead anymore. "Maybe we should go."

"We can't leave now. They're playing our song."

Enjolras frowned. "What are you talking about? We don't have a--"

He noticed the music for the first time all evening. The song had a dancy electronic beat, utterly alien to Vineyard parties, and there was something familiar about it.

 _If you leave, don't leave now_...

"The prom song from _Pretty in Pink_?" Eighties Brit-pop was not typical Vineyard party music.

Grantaire's eyes sparkled. "Everybody deserves a John Hughes moment, even if it's just pretend." He held out a hand, and Enjolras took it, rolling his eyes.

Then Grantaire pulled him close and settled one hand on his hip, and they were _dancing_.

Enjolras stared at him. "You told me you didn't know how to dance."

"I asked your mom to teach me. This morning, while you were asleep."

"You did _what_?"

"I told her I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, it worked." Enjolras wasn't used to following, but Grantaire was leading him almost effortlessly. "You're a natural."

"Nah. I've just got a good partner."

Enjolras huffed out a laugh and let himself relax. To anyone else, they were just another couple on the dance floor, taking advantage of the music to get closer to each other. The only people who knew otherwise were the two of them, and their secret was perfectly safe. Just two more days, and everything could go back to normal.

No more dancing.

"Montparnasse wasn't my first," Enjolras said, without thinking.

Grantaire looked up at him. "No?"

"Well, he _was_ , but...he's also my _only_."

"Oh, jeez."

Enjolras frowned. "I'm not ashamed of my lack of experience." _Much_ , he added silently.

"No, that's not what I meant. It's just that you deserve a much better experience than the one that jackass gave you."

"How do you know the sex was bad?"

"Are you going to stand there and tell me that it was _good_?"

"Not...exactly."

"You were safe, though, right?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes. " _Yes_ , Grantaire, we were safe. And he topped, and I did, eventually, get off on it. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Yes," he said. "Did you see where he went? Because one of us definitely needs to punch him."

"It's okay," Enjolras said, surprised to find that it was true. "You were right--he's not worth it."

"Say that again?"

"He's...not worth it?"

"No, the other part. My three favorite little words. _You were right_."

Enjolras groaned.

He was sorry when the song ended. He stepped back, letting his hand fall from Grantaire's shoulder, but Grantaire tugged him back as the next song started.

Enjolras smiled. "You don't have to keep dancing, if you don't want to."

"Nah, it's fine. I owe you one, for not dancing with you on Tuesday."

"You don't owe me anything."

"Yes, I do," Grantaire said, and his voice came out strangely serious. "Besides, I need the practice."

When the music changed again, Enjolras let go of Grantaire's hand decisively. It was awfully warm in the house, and his throat was dry. "I'm going to go get us drinks," he said. "If you see Monty coming--"

"Avoid at all costs. Got it."

Enjolras smiled at him and slipped through the other dancers towards the bar. Halfway back to Grantaire, Ada caught sight of him and parted the crowd like a sea.

"That was an interesting little interlude," she said brightly. "I'm fairly certain that wasn't on the playlist."

Enjolras shrugged. "It's sort of an inside joke, between Grantaire and me. It was all his doing, I swear."

"He seems like a good boy. I can tell that he really likes you."

Guilt seared Enjolras, and he took a deep breath. "Ada?"

"Yes?"

"I wanted you to know--the thing with Grantaire. It's not--we're not really together. I was sick of my parents trying to set me up with the kind of people they think I should be dating, but I'm not seeing anyone right now, so I asked Grantaire to pretend he was my boyfriend for the week."

"And he agreed," Ada finished.

"Yeah. Anyway, I'm sorry--I just didn't want to lie to _you_ , of all people."

"Oh, my dear." Ada smiled indulgently. "I'm not the one you're lying to." She squeezed his shoulder gently and walked on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * It wouldn't fit into the story, but Ada and Molly have been together for forty-five years. They met when Ada was protesting the Vietnam war and Molly was on her way to a college class. Ada's hand-painted protest sign drew Molly in, and her bright, angry passion sealed the deal. Molly skipped class and they wound up getting arrested together when the protest went south. They moved into Molly's family's home on the Vineyard after her parents passed away and have basically held court there ever since.
>   * The prom song from _Pretty in Pink_ is OMD's "If You Leave," and you can watch the scene [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q87sTz0WCqE). If Montparnasse starts to resemble James Spader circa 1986, I am ~~not~~ sorry.
>   * The Egalité International mentioned here is in no way related to the vaguely shady Ukranian conflict-management group that pops up in a Google search.
> 



	8. Friday

**Friday**

 

_I'm not the one you're lying to_.

He wasn't lying to Grantaire. He'd been perfectly honest from the beginning about what this was: an act. And Grantaire had been pretty convincing in his role--the bit where he'd basically _scolded_ a sitting U.S. Senator was an Oscar-caliber performance.

He _was_ lying to his parents, but that was essentially the point of this whole plan. And he'd cleared things up with Ada, which meant that the only people being lied to were the ones he'd intended to lie to in the first place. Enjolras put it out of his mind and got up to push the curtain back.

The morning was gray and cold, with a drizzle that seemed likely to turn into a downpour at any moment. It wasn't bad, not one of the nor'easters that could stop the island in its tracks, but it was a fair enough price to pay, after almost a week of clear skies.

Grantaire was nowhere to be found. Maybe he hadn't slept well, and he'd gone downstairs early. Enjolras hoped he was holed up in the library--the rain made a nice, steady sound against the windows in there, and it was good for concentration. He'd probably be bent over his sketchbook, frowning a little, with his hair falling over his eyes...

Enjolras wouldn't want to bother him. He walked past the library doors and into the kitchen, in search of a cup of coffee, but his father was already there, fiddling with the French press. Enjolras hung back in the doorway and waited.

He wasn't quite sure how Molly had mistaken him for his father. For one thing, Michel had darker hair, a definite brown shade in contrast to Enjolras' blond. Enjolras' hair had come from his mother's side of the family. But they had the same nose, or close enough, and their eyes were the same shade of blue. Given that, maybe Molly's confusion wasn't too strange, after all.

"Philippe?"

Enjolras started and realized he'd been gazing off into nothingness for an unknown length of time. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if you wanted coffee."

"Oh. Yes, please."

Michel poured a second cup, then picked up both cups and brought them out to the breakfast nook, clearly intending for Enjolras to sit down and talk with him. He almost smiled at how neatly he'd been boxed in.

"Did you enjoy the party last night?" Michel asked, sitting down.

Enjolras sat down across from him and pulled his cup of coffee closer. "Yeah. It was good to see Ada."

"She said you went out to see Molly, too."

"We did," Enjolras said. "She seemed happy enough, but she, uh...she thought I was you."

Michel winced. "That must have been difficult. But you know it isn't your fault that she didn't know you."

"I know. I just went along with it. I didn't have the heart to upset her."

He nodded. "That was awfully kind of you."

Was it? Enjolras shrugged.

"I'm sorry we haven't had much time to talk this weekend," Michel said ruefully. "I've been busy with work, and you've been entertaining our guest--I feel like we've hardly seen each other."

"If you had wanted to cancel the Harvard party to play charades, I would have jumped at the chance."

Michel smiled. "Point taken. Your mother and I wanted to tell you that the Harvard donation was not a bribe of any kind. It was a simple donation, though I'll acknowledge that it was poorly-timed--it had to do with taxes, and there was really no other time we could have done it."

Enjolras nodded stiffly.

"Philippe, you were accepted into Harvard on your own merits. No one who has ever met you could doubt that."

Grantaire had told him the same thing, hadn't he? At least, Enjolras was fairly certain that he had. Wednesday evening was more than slightly hazy. And even if he _had_ gotten into Harvard honestly, that didn't mean it was the right choice for him. "I got an internship with Egalité International," Enjolras said, almost without meaning to. "They're a human rights organization based in--"

"I'm familiar with the foundation. You applied for an internship there?"

"I interviewed in February. I just got their offer letter yesterday."

"I see."

Enjolras took a deep breath. "I've already sent them my acceptance." He kept his spine straight and his hands still, braced for his father's reaction.

"And Harvard?"

"I'll defer for a year. _If_ I decide that's where I want to go."

"Philippe--"

"You _want me_ to defer for a year," he said firmly. "Because when the campaign season heats up, the opposition is going to be all over our financial records. And if they find out that you and Mom made a donation to Harvard in February, and my name shows up in class list for fall semester...well, it won't take much for them to draw the same conclusions I did. Only I don't think they'll be put off so easily."

Michel pursed his lips. "And if you enroll next year, the pressure will be less."

"For everyone."

He shook his head. "You've got your mother's political mind," he said. "God help us all."

"So--it's okay, then? That I take the internship?"

"What exactly are you going to do if I say it's not?"

Enjolras put his coffee cup down. "I'm going anyway. Having your approval would be nice, but _not_ having it isn't a deal-breaker for me."

"I suppose that's fair. More coffee?"

"Um, sure." Enjolras let his father pick up his mug, feeling strangely off-balance. He'd expected to have to fight for this, to lay out pros and cons for hours until his parents grudgingly accepted that this was the right choice for him. Being treated like an adult was...different, to say the least.

Michel brought back both cups from the kitchen and handed one to Enjolras, and then he sat back down at the table and cleared his throat. "So. Grantaire."

Enjolras curled his hands around the coffee mug. "What about him?"

"You haven't mentioned him to us before."

"Well, there wasn't much to mention, really. We just kind of...found each other."

"Tell me about him," Michel said, and Enjolras blinked, startled.

"I--what do you want to know?"

"What do you think we _should_ know?" Michel countered neatly.

_Lawyers_. Enjolras frowned, struggling to distill Grantaire into a few words. "He's kind, and he's loyal. He...I know he's never had much, in terms of money, but he'd give you everything he had, if you needed it. When I start to get ahead of myself, or forget that people are, well, _people_ , he calls me on my bullshit. He's brilliant--and not just with his art--but he hates for people to know that. He's sarcastic and he gets seasick and he likes wine more than is strictly healthy for a person, but he'd do anything for me. He really would. He'd do anything for me, and I--I'd do the same for him," he said, more softly.

His father smiled. "You must really love him."

_I'm not the one you're lying to_.

Enjolras stood up. "I'm sorry. I need to--I need to go." He turned around and walked out of the room, barely noticing his father's puzzled expression.

He couldn't believe it had taken him so long. After all that talk of green lights, of wanting from afar--

His heart was pounding as he walked down the hall to the library and nudged one of the doors open. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he had to say _something_.

The library was empty. Beyond the wide window, Enjolras could see clouds scudding across the sky, but the lights were off, and Grantaire was nowhere to be found.

Enjolras knocked on the door of his mother's study.

"Come in."

He opened the door and leaned inside. "Mom, have you seen Grantaire?"

She looked up from her laptop, frowning. "He said he wanted to go for a walk."

"Seriously?"

"He said he didn't mind the rain," she said. "But I made him take your father's rain jacket."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Thanks." He climbed the stairs again and picked up his phone from the nightstand. He'd just send Grantaire a text.

_Hey, can you come back to the house for a minute? Need to talk._

Enjolras pressed Send and then nearly jumped out of his skin as the Beastie Boys started shouting about sabotage somewhere on the other side of the room. Enjolras picked up Grantaire's pillow to find his phone underneath it, showing the first two words of Enjolras' text on a lock-screen photograph taken on Monday's sailboat ride.

So Grantaire hadn't taken his phone with him. That left Enjolras with only two choices: Wait for him to come back, or go out and find him.

He already felt like he was coming out of his skin. He went back downstairs, pulled his own jacket off the coat rack, and walked outside.

The rain had let up, but the air had the particularly heavy feeling that meant it might start again at any moment. The clouds were so low he almost felt claustrophobic.

He paused at the edge of the yard and considered his options. Grantaire could have taken a walk down the road, where the trees would keep off most of the rain, or he could have walked down to the shore, like they had on Sunday. Enjolras thought about the picture on his phone, the way he'd stood at the railing on the ferry and how he'd turned back to grin at Enjolras.

_I'm a land-locked soul_.

Enjolras started down the path to the shore. The rain had already soaked into the sand, leaving it crumbling and treacherous underfoot, like walking on a ruined sand castle. He half-slid down the last few feet to the packed sand below the tide line. There, walking was a little easier.

And there were footprints, too. Booted footprints leading away down the beach, but not back--not yet. Enjolras followed the footsteps, wondering how long ago Grantaire had left, and how far he might have gotten.

Around a curve in the shoreline, he caught a glimpse of his father's yellow rain slicker. Grantaire was sitting on the sand with his knees drawn up to his chest, looking out at the ocean. Enjolras stopped in his tracks, taking in the planes and angles of Grantaire's face, watching the wind off the water as it tangled his hair.

How had he never seen it before?

He started walking again, trudging through the wet sand to where Grantaire was sitting.

"Hi," Enjolras said. His voice came out strangled and hoarse, and he cleared his throat.

Grantaire looked up at him. "Hey. Sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. I wanted to see the sunrise, but I didn't want to wake you."

"Oh." That would have been the time to tell him, sitting alone on the beach while the sun lit the clouds in pink and gold. Enjolras sat down next to him. "Can we talk?"

Grantaire laughed, short and sharp. "You don't have to break up with me, Enjolras. We were never together, remember?"

"That's not what I was going to--I _know_ that," Enjolras said, frowning.

"All right, sorry." Grantaire leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him, inches from the spot where the waves came in. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I've changed my mind," he said flatly. He hadn't, not really, but if Grantaire was upset about something, it wasn't a good time for this conversation.

Grantaire turned to him. "No, really. I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm in a weird mood, I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'll behave, I promise."

"Oh. I was just thinking about how weird it is, to be leaving already."

"I thought you couldn't wait to get back."

"Usually I can't," Enjolras said. "But this time is different. Even with all the parties and the politics, and my parents thinking they know what's best for me...I guess there are some things about being here that I'm going to miss."

"The sailing? The view? The _wine_?" Grantaire suggested slyly.

" _No_."

"What, then?"

Enjolras steeled himself. "You," he said quietly. He reached out and covered Grantaire's hand with his own. "This."

Grantaire turned to stare at him, and Enjolras rushed to explain.

"I'm going to miss holding your hand, and dancing with you, and--waking up next to you. I'll miss being your boyfriend," he said, "even though it wasn't real."

Grantaire didn't say anything. Enjolras' heart sank. How was he supposed to survive seven hours of silence on the drive back? For that matter, how was he ever going to be able to look Grantaire in the eye again?

He pulled his hand away, already starting to apologize, but Grantaire reached out and caught it. "Me, too," he said.

"What?"

"Everything you said--I'll miss it, too. The dancing, the hand-holding, just _being_ with you. I know that I'm not really--I mean, I know you hate the guy, but you have to admit that Monty had a point--"

Enjolras leaned forward and kissed him. The angle was awkward, and the hand that Grantaire raised to Enjolras' cheek was gritty with sand, but it was the best kiss of his life.

He drew back, just a little. "Please never, ever say that name again."

Grantaire breathed out a shaky laugh against Enjolras' cheek. "If that's the reaction I get, I might never _stop_ saying it."

"If you want me to kiss you, all you have to do is say so."

"Really?"

"Try it."

Grantaire pulled away far enough to look Enjolras solemnly in the eye. "Enjolras. I want you to kiss me."

So Enjolras obliged.

They might have sat there on the beach until the tide came back in, but the rain that had been looming all morning started to patter down on the sand around them. Enjolras gasped as a cold drop worked its way down the back of his neck.

Grantaire sat back, looking slightly dazed. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking--we could do this inside, too."

"Hm, yeah. We could go inside...get you out of those wet clothes..."

Enjolras shivered, and not entirely because of the rain. He climbed to his feet and held out a hand to help Grantaire up, and then they made their way back down the beach to the house. By the time they got to the path, the rain was falling in earnest, hissing against the surface of the water.

They stumbled in through the back door, still clinging to each other. Enjolras took one look at Grantaire's bedraggled hair and red, swollen mouth, and he started laughing. He couldn't help himself. It was just--he was _happy_ , he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so happy, and there was a curl hanging over Grantaire's eyes that was the exact shape of an inverted question mark.

Grantaire gaped at him like he'd lost his mind, and then the humor of the situation must have caught up with him, because _he_ started laughing, too, and then it was all they could do to stay upright.

Katherine peered in through the kitchen doorway. She gave them a look of fond confusion and shook her head. "What has gotten into you two?"

Enjolras cast a guilty look at Grantaire. "Nothing, really."

"High spirits," Grantaire said solemnly, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing again.

"I'll go get you some towels," Katherine said. "Stay in here so you don't drip all over the house, all right?"

Enjolras nodded. As soon as he managed to restrain himself to the occasional giggle, he put a pan on the stove and started heating milk for hot chocolate. By the time his mother came back with a pair of the good guest-towels, they each had a mug in front of them, still too hot to drink.

"Thanks, Mom," Enjolras said.

"Yeah, thanks," Grantaire echoed.

Katherine smiled. "We thought we'd take the two of you out to dinner this evening, since it's your last night here. How does that sound?"

Enjolras was shocked to have his opinion consulted, but he nodded. "It sounds great. We'll just...clean up a little, first."

They made it almost all the way up the stairs without incident. Grantaire was a step ahead of him, and Enjolras, remembering Ada's party, couldn't quite resist. Turnabout _was_ fair play, after all.

He reached out and squeezed Grantaire's ass.

He squeaked and jumped away at the top of the stairs, recovering himself enough to snap the towel in Enjolras' direction. Enjolras ducked out of the way, and Grantaire just dropped the towel over Enjolras' head and _rubbed_.

By the time Enjolras yanked the towel off of his face, he knew his hair was sticking up in every possible direction, all but crackling with static electricity. "You suck."

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. "Yes. I do."

Before Enjolras could respond, Grantaire ducked into the bathroom and closed the door.

 

* * *

 

Dinner turned out to be an understated seafood restaurant overlooking the ocean. The rain had mostly stopped, but a fog had rolled in, obscuring all but the very edge of the water.

"I want to paint this," Grantaire said. "Remind me to paint this, when we get home."

"Can I watch you?"

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. "You want to watch me poke a brush at a canvas and frown for five hours?"

"Actually, that doesn't sound like a bad afternoon."

Grantaire flushed and looked down at his plate.

Enjolras barely remembered any of the conversation. By the time they left, the only thing he really remembered was the strawberry pie, and the way that Grantaire had sat next to him and hooked his ankle around Enjolras' under the table. It wasn't much--wasn't anything more than what they'd been doing for the last week--but it was _real_ now, and that made all the difference.

He'd be sorry to leave the Vineyard tomorrow. Not that he was worried about this... _thing_ with Grantaire surviving the chaos of their normal lives, but it was nice to be away from it, just for a little while.

When they got back to the house, Enjolras' parents retreated to their offices, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire free to hole up in the family room with the TV.

Enjolras had almost every intention of watching the show, but they barely made it past the opening credits. They started out upright, with a polite amount of space between them, but when it became clear that Enjolras' parents weren't going to come back downstairs, they started slipping sideways. They only stopped falling when Grantaire's back hit the arm of the sofa, with Enjolras half on top of him. Enjolras was still learning how to kiss him, testing different things to see what made Grantaire's breath hitch in his chest.

Enjolras' lips were tingling by the time he pulled back and settled down to watch the show. He blinked slowly.

The room had gotten dark. White text on the dimmed screen read _Are you still there_?, and Enjolras' cheek was resting on Grantaire's chest. He sat up and covered a yawn with one hand. "I'm sorry. How long has it been like that?" he asked.

"A while. I didn't want to wake you."

Enjolras frowned at him. "You've just been sitting here staring at a blank screen?"

"Oh, I wasn't staring at the screen," he said quietly.

Enjolras flushed and buried his face in Grantaire's shoulder. "I never knew you were such a sap," he said, muffled by the fabric of Grantaire's t-shirt.

Grantaire tugged gently on a lock of Enjolras' hair. "Lots of things you don't know about me. Come on, let's go to bed."

Enjolras blinked, startled to find that the relatively innocent phrase had taken on a whole new meaning, but he didn't comment on the change. Getting ready for bed was strangely awkward, more than it had been when they weren't...whatever they were now.

Enjolras thought _boyfriends_ had a nice sound to it.

Grantaire was already in bed when Enjolras stepped out of the bathroom. He switched off the lamp and climbed into bed, turning over to look at Grantaire. He was barely more than a silhouette in the darkness.

Enjolras cleared his throat. "Well, this is..."

"New. Different."

"Nice." Enjolras leaned forward to kiss him. He missed, brushing his a kiss over the tip of Grantaire's nose before finding his lips. They stayed like that for a while, and then Grantaire went exploring, trailing his lips along the edge of Enjolras' jaw.

"If I ever get tired of this," Grantaire said, "please hire someone to rearrange my priorities for me."

"Mm. I promise." Enjolras' hand found the hem of Grantaire's t-shirt, and he traced lazy circles on the skin beneath. It would be easy-- _very_ easy--to tug Grantaire's shirt upwards, or to let his hand slide lower...

He broke off, pulling his hand away from Grantaire's hip.

Grantaire leaned up on one arm. "Are you okay?"

Enjolras ducked his head, even though it was too dark for Grantaire to see him blush. "I'm fine, it's just--it's a little too soon for...anything."

"I know that."

"You do?" Enjolras sighed with relief. "I mean...there are lots of things I want to do, just not quite yet."

"Hey. You don't have to explain yourself to me. We'll go at whatever pace you want, okay?"

The pace he _wanted_ and the pace that was probably _best_ were miles apart, but he knew what Grantaire meant. There would be time for that later, when they were both ready. And when his parents weren't sleeping just down the hall.

"We _could_ kiss some more, though," Enjolras ventured. "But only if you want to."

Grantaire laughed and leaned in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the lag between updates--this one needed a lot of revision, and I wanted the emotional payoff to be worth it. :) The epilogue should be up this weekend. Thank you so so _so_ much to everyone who's read this story. Every single kudos and comment warms my heart and makes my day.  <3


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue: Saturday**

 

Enjolras woke tangled up with Grantaire again, and this time he only panicked a little. Grantaire was already awake, scrolling through something on his phone. It probably wasn't the most comfortable angle, since Enjolras was lying on Grantaire's free arm, but he didn't seem to be complaining.

"Good morning."

"Hey," Grantaire said, smiling.

"Sleep okay?"

"Not too bad."

That was probably code for _I slept like shit but it's okay_. Enjolras would have to practice speaking Grantaire. He sat up, freeing Grantaire's arm from beneath him.

"Sorry about that," he said, watching Grantaire shake the pins and needles out of his hand.

"It's fine." Grantaire leaned in and kissed him, light and quick and...minty.

Enjolras frowned. "Did you already get up and brush your teeth?"

" _No_ ," Grantaire said, but the blush spreading up from his throat told a different story.

"You know I'm not going to break up with you for having morning breath."

"Yeah, but morning breath, in addition to the whole host of other flaws that I bring to the table, might be the last straw, you know?"

"Not even close," Enjolras said. He pushed back the blankets and climbed out of bed. "But in the interest of leveling the playing field, _I'm_ going to go brush my teeth, too."

He also washed his face, in the hopes of getting rid of the crease that the pillowcase had left across his cheekbone. It didn't help much.

Enjolras packed his suitcase while Grantaire took a shower. It was partly because it needed to be done, but mostly because it kept him from thinking too much about the fact that Grantaire was twelve feet away, naked and wet and singing a Phantom of the Opera medley.

When they came downstairs, the house was silent, and there was a note on the dining room table.

_Went to brunch. Thought we'd let you sleep in. Don't leave before we get back, please. --K_

Enjolras eyed the note skeptically, then turned to Grantaire. "So...want to make out in the library?"

"Absolutely."

That was the last actual work spoken by either of them for the next half-hour. At the distant sound of a car door slamming, Enjolras sat up sharply and almost knocked Grantaire to the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry! That’s my parents—“

Grantaire scrambled up off the window seat, pushing a hand through his hair to tame it. His efforts probably would have been better spent at fixing his newly wrinkled t-shirt, but Enjolras was too busy buttoning his own shirt to comment. They had about thirty seconds before his parents came inside, and maybe fifteen seconds more before they passed the library door.

Grantaire winced. “I should have shaved this morning,” he said.

“What?”

He reached out and slid a fingertip over the tender skin of Enjolras’ jaw. “Stubble burn,” he said apologetically.

Maybe they would get lucky, and his parents would put it down to sunburn.

Out in the front hall, the door opened. "Enjolras? Grantaire? You're still here, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mom," Enjolras called, pushing open the door of the library. They met up with Katherine in the living room. "But we need to get going if we want to make the next ferry."

She nodded. "I thought you'd want to get a good start. I sent your father upstairs to bring down your suitcases.”

"Oh--he didn't have to do that," Grantaire protested.

She waved a hand carelessly. "Nonsense. It's rude to make your guests drag their luggage everywhere."

Michel came downstairs with their two bags. Enjolras scooped up his keys from the hall table, and there was an awkward in-between moment where no one quite knew what to do.

Katherine's diplomatic skills came to the rescue. "It was so good to meet you, Grantaire. You're always welcome here."

"Thank you so much for having me, ma'a--Katherine," he ventured.

"I meant it about that Picasso," Michel added. "Have Enjolras bring you down to the city sometime, and we'll have lunch."

Grantaire nodded. "That would be amazing. Thank you."

"Drive safe, you two," Katherine said. "Let us know when you get back."

"I will." Enjolras hugged both of his parents. "Love you."

Then they picked up their suitcases and walked out to the car.

 

The drive back was dull and frustrating all at the same time. It was only seven hours, but Enjolras was suddenly resentful of spending all day sitting next to Grantaire without being able to touch him.

But they would be back in Ithaca before dark, and that left them Saturday evening and all of Sunday before classes started up again. That was a lot of time for talking, and...other things.

When they stopped at a gas station, Enjolras bought a tube of Chapstick.

The sun was just setting when they reached home. Enjolras drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as they sat at a stoplight, casting about for an excuse to keep from leaving Grantaire.

Then again, maybe this was a little too much togetherness for Grantaire. Maybe he should back off a little bit—he didn’t want to be smothering.

He pulled up outside Grantaire’s building and put the car into park. “So, um...” he began, and then he trailed off.

“Do you, uh, want to come inside?” Grantaire offered. “I can unpack my stuff, and then we can watch a movie or something. And I really mean watch a movie, I’m not pushing for—“

“I know,” Enjolras said. “And I’d love to come in. A movie sounds great.” He turned off the car and followed Grantaire inside and up three flights of stairs to the off-campus apartment he shared with Bahorel.

A heavy bass beat sounded through the door, and Grantaire hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “Sounds like Bahorel’s home.” He turned to Enjolras. “Are you okay with this? With people knowing about us?”

Enjolras frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it? You’re not some dirty little secret, Grantaire. I want them to know.”

Grantaire’s face broke into a beatific smile, and he leaned up to kiss Enjolras. Enjolras stepped closer, curling an arm around Grantaire’s waist.

Then Grantaire’s hand slipped on the doorknob. The door swung open, and they half-stepped, half-fell into the living room, landing directly at Bahorel’s feet. Bahorel stared down at them, stunned, and then he laughed.

“Mazel tov!” he shouted, hauling them to their feet and then sweeping them both into a bone-crushing embrace. “I’m so proud of you two.”

The back of Enjolras’ neck prickled, and his face warmed. “That wasn’t really how we meant to tell you.”

“Dude, no, it was the perfect entrance.”

“Right.”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Okay, so we’re back. And now we’re going to go...unpack...”

Bahorel winked. “Don’t worry about being quiet—I’ll keep the music up nice and loud.”

 

Grantaire’s room was small and cluttered, which explained his penchant for studying at Enjolras’ house. The desk by the window was swamped with art supplies and half-finished pieces, a chaos of creation that was so perfectly _Grantaire_ that Enjolras couldn’t help but smile.

“Sorry. If I’d known I was going to have a boy over, I would have made my bed,” Grantaire teased, but there was genuine embarrassment under his tone. He tugged at the rumpled blanket to make it lie straighter. “The sheets are clean, though. I mean, not that we're going to—I wasn’t suggesting anything. You know that, right?“

“Grantaire. Relax.” Enjolras reached out to take his hand. “I truly do not care whether your bed is made, all right? I like your room, it suits you.”

Grantaire laughed hollowly. “Yeah, we're both kind of a mess, aren't we?”

“ _Not_ what I meant,” Enjolras said, and he kissed him for emphasis. As a distraction technique, it really was unparalleled. The only trouble was that they were now in serious danger of getting entirely sidetracked, so Enjolras gently nudged Grantaire backwards. “You were going to unpack, remember?”

Grantaire’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to hold me to that?”

“Sure. And maybe after, I can hold you to something else.”

As lines went, it was pathetically clumsy, but Grantaire’s face lit up. “You really do know how to motivate a guy,” he said, hauling his suitcase up onto the bed. “Give me two minutes.”

Enjolras smiled at the optimistic estimate, and he fished his phone out of his back pocket. He needed to let his parents know that they'd made it home all right, and he probably ought to text Combeferre, too. He'd save the details for later.

Across the room, Grantaire let out a startled squawk. "Enjolras! Tell me you didn't do this."

"Do what?"

"Come see."

Enjolras stepped up behind Grantaire. He hooked his chin over Grantaire's shoulder and curled an arm around his waist, his fingers just brushing the hem of Grantaire’s shirt.

Grantaire's clothes were neatly folded in his suitcase, but resting on top of them was a green glass wine bottle.

"Oh my god," Enjolras breathed, picking it up.

Tied around the last bottle of '98 Petrus was a note, in his mother's crisp handwriting.

_Cheers_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who stuck with me to the end of this story. I loved writing it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it, too. There's one little bonus scene that I hope to post someday, but officially I'm ready to call this fic complete.


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